


sailing over coney island

by actonbell



Series: we can be heroes [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies) RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Dom Sebastian, Dom/sub, Gentle Dom, M/M, Rimming, Smoking, Sub Chris, Switching, Top Sebastian
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-01
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-24 01:33:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6136732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actonbell/pseuds/actonbell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris had shut the door almost before Seb was all the way through it, put his back to it again, and felt a weird gnawing hollowness open up in his chest. He'd ignored it for the short while after that he was awake (poured a nightcap he forgot to drink until it was half meltwater, flipped through cable channels before turning off the light, swiped aimlessly through half-a-dozen apps before putting his phone on the nightstand) but it hadn't gone away.  And when he'd woken up, it was like the emptiness had become a physical thing, absence taking on weight and shape like a fucking Zen paradox, a specific vacancy: <i>not-Seb.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rana Eros (ranalore)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranalore/gifts).



> Again, this got really long, so I'm splitting it into two chapters. The second one, which, yes, has all the sex in it, will go up in a few days. I swear.
> 
> The title is from David Bowie's "Slip Away," off _Heathen,_ which I've loved on first hearing but really haunted me just after he died. His live versions are, as always, really something: [Reality Tour (2010)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w-vzhG5kf0A), [Live by Request (2002)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fa1nPafFduk), [Berlin (2002)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODdPRt91IAA), and my favourite, [L'Olympia (2002)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FQrJE56oU7I).
> 
> The movie Anthony Mackie tells Chris Evans about is the 2004 _Brother to Brother,_ and the book of the same name was edited by poet [Essex Hemphill (1957-1995),](https://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/a-poet-who-spoke-to-the-black-gay-experience-and-a-quest-to-make-him-heard/2014/08/03/91307a2a-1ac6-11e4-9e3b-7f2f110c6265_story.html) one of the many young writers cut down in the AIDS epidemic. The interview where he explained the meaning of his saying "Take care of your blessings" is [here.](http://www.qrd.org/qrd/www/culture/black/essex/blessings.html)
> 
> The dollar bill Chris customized for a fan is real: http://buzz.blog.ajc.com/2015/06/04/chris-evans-makes-it-rain-in-buckhead-launches-his-own-captain-america-currency/

When Chris wakes up alone, it takes him a couple of long, bad minutes to get over how _wrong_ it feels. He doesn't mind waking up alone, usually, prefers it in fact: he sees it as a chance to try to fit into his own skin, fucking _relax,_ get himself centered. He always means to meditate, especially if he wakes up early, but almost never does. But this is nuts, this totally lost feeling. He didn't wake up out of a nightmare, he knows where he is and what he's doing _(hotel room, Hotlanta, reshoots),_ and even the way the light comes through the too-thin curtains (he never draws the drapes, they're too thick and suffocating) and the recessed lights high in the ceiling over his bed are familiar by now. But when he rolls over, the cool side of the bed feels ridiculously large, and empty squared: not just unoccupied, but like someone _specific_ isn't occupying it. The knowledge that Seb isn't there, won't _be_ there, isn't in the bathroom taking a piss or brushing his teeth, or out on a Starbucks run, feels like when you get a tooth pulled and your tongue's drawn to the new space over and over again, trying to map what isn't there.

He is _so_ fucking fucked.

It's even worse because he and Seb had agreed -- maturely, calmly agreed, like regular mature, calm adults -- that it was better to not spend the night together, at least not right now, that there were already gossips and paps and reporters stationed everywhere around the hotel and the studios, and all it would take was one nosey tourist with a cell phone at six in the morning....He was almost relieved, in a guilty way, about getting some time to himself to decompress and unwind, time to stop feeling buzzed and like his hands and mouth were magnetically drawn to Seb's skin. He didn't think he'd ever felt so aware of where another person was in the same room, in his life. They'd made out pressed up against the door like teenagers, long, lazy kisses that turned into biting and licking and sucking -- Chris jokingly throwing Seb out, Sebastian making his case to stay; Sebastian declaring he had to go, Chris begging for five more minutes -- until Seb had finally gone out without looking back. Chris had shut the door almost before Seb was all the way through it, put his back to it again, and felt a weird gnawing hollowness open up in his chest. He'd ignored it for the short while after that he was awake (poured a nightcap he forgot to drink until it was half meltwater, flipped through cable channels before turning off the light, swiped aimlessly through half-a-dozen apps before putting his phone on the nightstand) but it hadn't gone away. And when he'd woken up, it was like the emptiness had become a physical thing, absence taking on weight and shape like a fucking Zen paradox, a specific vacancy: _not-Seb._

_"Fuck,"_ he says loudly and sincerely at the ceiling. There is no fucking way this -- whatever _this_ can possibly be -- will work, not in ten different lifetimes. He doesn't know what this _is,_ or if he really has it (or wants it -- no, he wants it, he _needs_ it, which is even worse) or if _Seb_ wants it, or what it would be like, _if_ he did. How it could possibly work, with their schedules, their fame, in their world....in their society: it might have felt like the whole country partied when gay marriage was legalized, but after growing up right alongside Scott, Chris is all too aware of what regular gay people still face just living ordinary lives, day to day. God knows what kind of immense shitstorm would explode if people knew Steve fucking Rogers and his fucking friend from childhood Bucky Barnes had _kissed._ And Chris knows enough about fame and comics and movies now to know it wouldn't be him and Sebastian, it would be Steve and Bucky, or not even them, but the fucking Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloon versions of them. Larger than life, and all hot air.

Chris takes a deep breath, plants both hands firmly on the bed and imagines his anxiety flowing down his arms, through his veins, out through his fingers, into the goddamn mattress. He stands up, stamping both feet on the floor, trying to think about gratitude and happiness and get into that healthy Steve Rogers headspace, the wish to do good, to do _better,_ to be guided by a good heart. He breathes deeply, down to the bottom of his diaphragm, one hand on his stomach, feeling it rise and fall, more deeply, more slowly, as the biofeedback exercise starts working. "I'm in Pinewood," he mutters to himself, "I don't have anything to do til this afternoon, I'm going to take a shower, get something to eat, do my run, and I'm going to be _just fucking fine."_ He claps his hands once and rubs them briskly together, does the same rough massage all up and down his arms, tries a few easy modified qigong moves -- no, definitely way too early for that, his form is for shit. But the activity's gotten him up out of bed, and more importantly, out of his head, if only a little bit. He's also closer to the big windows, and not only are just the sheer curtains drawn, they're not drawn _all the way._ Damn. He has to stop doing that. He hates the feeling of being closed in by thick heavy fabric, but he wouldn't put it past the paps to somehow get a fucking drone up to his windowsill. He quickly steps across to the dresser to grab at least a pair of boxers, even if he's just going to be walking across his own room to the shower.

When he yanks the drawer open there's a strange rustling sound and something floats up and out with his pulling motion -- Chris catches it automatically before it hits the floor. It's oddly familiar, and then he recognizes the almost painstakingly legible handwriting. The piece of paper is turned sidewise this time, and the words are just as large, but neatly centered, taking up most of the blank space. All it says is _Call me,_ but Chris hears Sebastian's voice from last night: _Now, you belong to me....and that means, you do what I say._ He feels himself flush so hard, the skin on his chest heats up and the dissonance of anxiety -- how it feels like you're lost, drifting, but also terribly focused on shit you don't really want to think about at all -- seems to dissolve, the warm rush of arousal and memory sweeping it away like water. 

(Another part of him thinks: the fucking guy left me a _fucking note,_ this is too fucking cute. But on second thought, Seb probably left the note because an unsigned unaddressed vague two-word note isn't evidence of anything at all, even if it's in his handwriting. Which is depressing, and also makes Chris want to hurt whoever made Sebastian that wary. But the thought of Seb waiting until Chris was distracted or dozing and then slipping a note in his _underwear drawer_ is still too fucking cute. Like kids in high school, not that he ever got to do that kind of thing.)

Totally forgetting the boxers or why he thought he needed them, he walks back to the bed, still holding the note, and punches in Seb's number (he hasn't put Seb on speed-dial yet, he knows it's dumb but it feels like that would jinx it -- _jinx it,_ Christ, what is he, seventeen?), not thinking about trying to act cool. Seb picks up before the first ring finishes, which puts a big stupid grin on Chris's face Seb can probably _hear_. Sebastian says, "Hey -- hey, you got great timing, we finished a run-through just right this second." He's breathing hard, and the sound goes right to Chris's dick. 

"Hey," Chris says, the word completely inadequate, but he totally doesn't care for fucking once in his life. He feels calmed down and relaxed in just the way he didn't after the exercises. _The Zen of Lust,_ now that would be a best-seller. 

Chris thinks he hears background conversation die out and then Seb maybe shuts a door, and says, his voice different -- lower, almost a purr -- "Sooo, you found it."

"I did. I did. -- What the hell, you in a broom closet or something?" Chris can't stop smiling.

"Not in a _closet,_ no," Sebastian drawls, sounding like he's smiling too. "I'm in....is this Building 101? I don't remember....anyway, you know, when you get off the stage, and there's the double doors, like, pushbar doors like they have in schools? There's a little hallway....more like an ante -- a vestibule?"

"Oh yeah, yeah," Chris says, visualizing it. It's very _Seb_ to forget which building he's in, but be that particular about his vocabulary. Every fucking thing about him is suddenly adorable; this is bad. 

"You just wake up?" Sebastian asks, voice low and lazy, and Chris swallows, hard. _Really_ bad.

"Yeah, I....yeah. I was just on my way to take a shower, clear my head -- " Chris stops short as he realizes how suggestive that is, and how un-suggestively he just said it. 

"A _shower?"_ Sebastian says, in that happily surprised tone, and Chris can picture the face he makes that goes along with it, where his mouth drops open and those eyebrows go up and his forehead creases and just thinking of those chiseled lips opening up makes Chris fall back flat onto the bed. "So, are you completely naked?"

Chris shuts his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose hard. Sebastian's going to be the death of him. "Yeah, as I usually am when I _take a shower,_ what about you? You wear a wetsuit in there?"

"Well, if you'd rather mouth off instead of getting some scorching hot phonesex, that's -- "

"Oh, _that's_ why you left the note? Scorching hot phonesex? And here I thought you just missed my dulcet tones."

There's a really short pause and then Sebastian blurts out, like he's trying to keep himself from not-saying it, "I did. I missed you."

Chris thinks it's a good thing he was already lying down. This thing between them is moving so fast, it's like a fucking bullet train. "I missed you too," he says without hesitating, just like Sebastian did, wanting to be that open right back. "When I woke up, I...." He moves to scratch the back of his neck, cups his palm under his head. "It was sort of terrible." He tries to laugh, poke fun at himself, but it dies in his throat.

Again, there's just a few seconds of charged silence and Sebastian says, not quite so rushed now, "For me it's falling asleep....not waking up, not that so much. But I had a lot of, great difficulty, falling asleep last night. It was.... _terrible_ might be a little bit of an exaggeration. Bad. Very bad. It was very, very bad." He half-laughs at himself, too, and it sounds even worse than Chris's attempt.

"Might have to figure out some way to fix that," Chris says, in a voice he almost doesn't recognize as his own. _Throaty_ doesn't begin to describe it. 

"Yeah, I want to," Sebastian agrees, his laughter sounding slightly distressed now. "I....don't see how, but I want us to."

"Hey, it'll be OK." Chris tries to sound firm and reassuring, like someone Seb can lean on. "We'll figure it out. I mean, that's not what really matters, right? The big thing, we....we got that." He doesn't know quite what he's saying, but he feels like if he did, he wouldn't be able to get it out.

"Yeah, no," Sebastian agrees again, calmer. "That's not what's....important. I know."

Now they're apparently both clutching their phones, not sure of what else they can say. 

"I should -- " Chris starts at the same time Sebastian says, "I gotta get back," and they laugh again a little, together -- it's strained, but feels better. "I'll see you later? We're running late, here, I'm not sure when...."

"Yeah, I start in the afternoon, _late,"_ Chris says. "Something about the stupid setup. But we'll meet up, okay? Promise."

There's a longer pause and then Sebastian says, much more quietly, "Yeah, okay," and then he repeats "I gotta get back -- I'm sorry," and hangs up. 

As it turns out, Chris has much less time than he expected to brood over when he'll see Sebastian again, because his phone starts going off while he's in the shower. Once, twice....four times, five....and by the eighth and ninth notifications, he's trying to get shampoo out of both his hair and his eyes and grab the phone from the counter where he cunningly placed it _just_ out of reach, without drenching it or knocking it to the floor. Lots of people call him, but only one person sends him messages like a repeater rifle, and that person is Hayley. Since her last internet prank changed his life in ways _he_ doesn't know about yet, he wants to at least have a fucking clue about what she's planning now. He scrolls, and keeps scrolling, through familiar _wake up!_ and _reveille!_ blasts until he gets the gist.

_lunch_

_meet us for lunch_

_EVERYONE will be there_

_and I do mean_

_everyone_

"Oh, God," Chris mutters while trying to type a reply before another incoming message cuts him off.

_including inseparable friends_

_who have only become more_

_more like_

_brothers ♥ ♥ ♥_

"Whoah!" Chris yells at the phone screen. "HayleyHayleyHayley...." He stabs at the keypad and manages _ill be there :D!_ and scrubs at his still-wet face with his free hand. 

_you SHALL be there_

_you ignorant Yank_

Chris grins, remembering the shall/will distinction she tried to teach him, when he was confused about a line in the first Cap movie ("I shall drown! No one will help me!" she had exclaimed, and he'd said _"What?")_ and replies: _We shall go to the ball?_

_Yes!_

_only no, it's lunch_

Chris types: _Any place is a ball with you, Disney princess._

Her reply is a slightly blurry selfie: Hayley sticking out her tongue and popping her eyes so they're perfectly round. Chris grins and goes into the bedroom to get ready for his run.

Right before he goes out the door, although he'd never admit it to anyone else in his life (not even Seb -- _especially Seb)_ , he hesitates, then picks up the note from the bed, doubles it over and puts it in the reinforced zippered pocket of his sweatpants along with his phone and keycard. If someone asked, he'd say he didn't want to leave it in the room, although if someone _did_ find it, they wouldn't be able to get anything out of it (well, TMZ and ONTD and the other gossip sites would, but they can get anything out of his going _outside,_ so that's a lost cause). But since it's private, he can admit to himself he doesn't want to leave it behind, that he imagines he can feel the paper somehow even though it's flat between the card and the phone, a small flare of heat safe there in the darkness.

 

Chris spritzed and changed after his run and his workout because he honestly thinks it's rude to show up sweaty and wrecked to makeup, where he's going right after lunch, and when he sees everyone already gathered around the patio table outside he's glad, because Sebastian is wearing gray fitted sweatpants, a black tank and a loose black T-shirt over it -- he seems to love destroying collars by yanking on them until they're down to the middle of his chest or cutting them out of shirts altogether. He's not dressed up at all, but looks spectacular. If they were alone, Chris would be paying serious attention to the exact spot where his shoulder joins his neck. Mackie, as usual, is handsome and "cool as the other side of the pillow," as he'd put it, even in the heat, in a button-down pale blue shirt and navy light sport coat. But the girls are, also as usual, spectacular -- both in red-and-black sundresses, but Hayley's is strapless and apparently held up with secret magnets somehow, all black except for a broad band of red just below her breasts which emphasizes her hourglass figure even more. Scarlett's dress is bright red with a splashy pattern of big black poppies, armless but cut high at the neck and _very_ low in back. Chris is somewhere between Seb and Mackie, in just a T-shirt with an open dress shirt over it, but he picked nice slacks and a good belt, wetcombed his hair and he's wearing shades. And he definitely did not spend way too long after his shower fussing over this damn outfit trying to come up with something that hit the sweet spot between "not dressing up too much to see the guy I've fallen like a ton of bricks for" and "looking nice for a lunch date with friends."

So of course, said friends immediately start giving him shit about how well he cleans up and how refreshing it is to see him in a shirt that _fits_ and Mackie wants to know, did Gucci give him that belt? He hates them all, and says so, to a resounding chorus of boos. Seb doesn't say anything, just smiles, and of course the one open space at the table is next to him, so at least it doesn't seem too.... _whatever_ if Chris sits there, so maybe it's actually a good thing he's late. He revises that opinion immediately when he finds out the Terrible Two turned Terrible Trio (God help Fayetteville and its environs) have been waiting for him to order so, of course, they've been tanking up on mimosas.

"My sympathies," he says to Sebastian, sincerely.

Sebastian glances down at the table, playing with his silverware, still with that slight smile. Chris wants to kiss him so badly he bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing it. "Oh, they're not so, you know, it's all right," he says without looking up. "The giggle smoke gets a little thick, maybe...."

"Hey. I don't giggle. I am a grown-ass man," Mackie says. "If I _did_ giggle -- which I don't -- it would be in a manly way."

"You giggled, in a _manly_ way, when -- Hayley told that joke about Ant-Man's dick -- "

"Oh Jesus," Chris says and flaps his menu open, holding it high up over his face.

" -- and how it stayed bigger when -- "

"It's Giant-Man, not Ant-Man, Buck-a-rest, get it right!" Mackie crows.

"That is _really, not_ how you pronounce -- "

Chris can see three servers huddled nearby, staring over at their table and arguing, but Scarlett points out they're probably fighting over who'll wait on the table and therefore get autographs and probably pictures, because they finally have to do an actual coin toss and the one who wins strides over with a huge grin while the other two sulk. Chris manages not to laugh while ordering the blackened sea bass with an extra side of mixed greens, but he can't help shaking his head and smiling, thinking of how long he felt like a hopeless dork, and now people are arguing about whether or not they get to take his lunch order. He looks up to find Sebastian's eyes on him, an intense unreadable gaze, and feels like he's been sucker punched.

"Always a little weird, hunh?" Sebastian says quietly. "It's....humbling, really."

"Yeah," Chris agrees, "especially when I had a bowl cut hairstyle from fourth grade until freshman year. And braces. I'm surprised anyone _talked_ to me then." Seb smiles and it seems to release the tension between them, although it's still hard for Chris to look away.

"At least nobody's pulled out those awful fat pictures from ninth grade on me during an interview. I'm just waiting for it, though. They're all over the internet. _Everywhere."_

"I don't know what you two sad bastards are going on about," Mackie declares. "I was always this fine. I _came out_ this fine, is what I'm saying. The _nurses_ wanted my autograph, man. Right there in the delivery room."

It goes on like that for a while, everyone joking and shooting the shit like always, and Chris starts to relax, which is his big mistake. He's dated girls on the down low before, and has some longstanding friends-with-benefits arrangements back in Boston, but this is another world. It's one thing for the gossip sites to freak out over a lunch date or a dogwalking session, but what he and Sebastian have done together is potentially career-blowing and would make international headlines. Ever since he sat down, he's felt afraid of either ignoring Seb too pointedly or staring at him all googly-eyed, so it's nice to see they can bullshit like normal. But it's OK. He can do this, sit at a table with Seb and act like nothing happened. Both of them can. They're _actors,_ for Godsakes. It's hardly the first time he's fucked a co-star, or even fallen hard for a co-star. They'll be fine.

He can't blame alcohol, because neither of them are drinking -- Chris because he has to be on set pretty soon, and Seb sometimes just doesn't drink, Chris doesn't know why. Since they're eating, and they're all actors, the conversation turns to what kinds of miracle foods are supposed to give you energy for the long hours. Chris has seen Scarlett toss down protein shakes that appear to be barium mixed with rotting seaweed, but Seb wins because he tells them about the glass of "blue algae" he threw back every night before starring in _Picnic._ "I didn't even know what it really was, man," he laughs, "just this bizarre....glowing...neon blue _thing._ I just drank it when they gave it to me. But it worked, though! It was great."

"You are _in-sane,"_ Chris tells him, Mackie fervently nodding in agreement. "Certifiable. Completely."

"Oh, come on, don't knock it til you've tried it, right?" Seb drawls. "I bet you'd like it, be adventurous, come on...."

"No! Nonononono," Chris insists. "I love you, man. But no." It's something he might say to any guy friend, _has_ said before, but he freezes as soon as it's out of his mouth and just stares at Seb like a deer in the headlights. He knows the pause really only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like forever, and he knows Sebastian heard him because his eyes are wide. Then he looks away as Scarlett, God bless and keep her, makes a dirty joke and Hayley cackles and nobody is staring at Chris, he's fine, _it's fine._ He finally manages to look up and finds Mackie, of all people, watching him quietly, and when Chris meets his eyes he just nods slightly and gives him that faint pursed-lips not-quite-a-smile. Chris is desperate for the food to arrive, as a distraction, but he's also not sure now whether he'll be able to swallow a bite. When the server comes around again, apologizing for the delay and offering to comp their drinks because they're superhero movie stars, he thinks _fuckit_ and asks if they have Boston Irish Stout. Of course they do ("Goddamn Yankee," Mackie teases, and fuck kissing Seb, Chris could kiss _him_ for saying that to make him feel better). He swigs about half of it in one gulp. Nobody teases him about that, but the conversation stays light and silly, on the surface at least.

Chris goes absolutely still when he feels Sebastian's hand on his leg, under the table, and _thank fucking God_ under the tablecloth, although it's insane for him to touch Chris like that out here. It feels comforting, not sexy; Seb's right palm rests on the top of his left thigh, his thumb on one side of Chris's leg, long fingers wrapped around the other. His thumb moves just a little, easily, not tickling or teasing, and his hand slides down Chris's leg until his index finger is behind the back of Chris's flexed knee and his thumb strokes the side of the joint, fitting into the groove between bone and muscle like it was made to do that. It's an intimate but affectionate gesture, not overtly sexual but something you might see a long-married couple do seated side by side while waiting for something, pure wordless reassurance: _I'm here, you're here, we're together,_ taking solace in touching, being touched.

Chris can't look at him, but he drops his left hand to his lap and his hand covers Sebastian's, which feels warm and solid. Sebastian's fingers are longer and finer than his, the wristbones more prominent, and often he wears jewelry -- black rubber or leather bracelets, thick silver rings on multiple fingers, worked bands of beads -- but not today: all Chris can feel is his skin. It's dizzying, and dangerous, and fucking _reckless,_ but he can't resist. Sebastian lifts his fingers up without turning his hand over, and for a few moments, their fingers are woven together, Sebastian squeezing so tight it amost hurts. Chris doesn't say anything, or allow his breathing to change, giving nothing away. But he looks up, and Sebastian's gaze is trained right on his face, like a light. They lock eyes and Chris can't think of anything else: not their friends at the table, not the other people in the restaurant, not anyone. Usually Chris feels like this when they're in his room together, but not in public, in the daylight.

Mackie coughs, really loudly and not even that unconvincingly, and snaps them both out of it. Sebastian withdraws his hand, smoothly and easily, and Chris leans back, both hands gripping the edges of his chair's seat. The food comes a couple of minutes later -- Mackie must have seen the server approaching the table, Chris needs to buy him a case of whatever his favourite booze is -- and for a while they're all occupied in tasting and swallowing, commenting occasionally on the dishes but conversation dying down naturally otherwise. Seb and Chris both grimly chew away at their required grams of protein. Chris eyes Mackie's shoestring potatoes longingly, and makes a face at Hayley when she sneaks some off his plate. 

"Go ahead, have one!" she offers, snatching Mackie's fork ("Hey, girl, hey -- ") and scooping up more. "Live a little! Cheat, just _once,_ who's going to know?"

"You are a bad, bad influence," Chris tells her feelingly, digging into his small forest of mixed greens. When this reshoot is over -- no, when the whole goddamn _Infinity Wars_ gig is over and he has his life back, he's going to pull a Tony Stark and go to In-N-Out and order a double-double cheeseburger. No, two. No, two four-by-fours. And eat them _slowly._

"The worst!" Hayley cheerfully agrees, popping the loaded fork into her own mouth, as Scarlett swipes hers and passes it to Mackie behind Hayley's back. "And you love it. What would you do without me?"

"Die of old age and boredom," Mackie says gallantly, and she beams at him. 

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Sebastian asks Chris.

"In-N-Out?"

Sebastian shakes his head. "Hamburger Hamlet."

"Wow, really? That's old school, like, vintage....are they even open anymore? I went to the one on Sunset, I think. When I first got here....wow."

Sebastian nods, his mouth full. "Sherman Oaks," he manages. 

"Sebastian appreciates quality," Scarlett says slyly. Sebastian looks like he's about to choke on his roast chicken and quickly grabs Mackie's mimosa. Chris rolls his eyes, and Hayley cackles again -- you wouldn't think such a fresh-faced girl could make that filthy a sound.

Sebastian has to leave early to get his arm lubed up -- "We know all about how long it takes to get you ready," Mackie leers at him, and Sebastian makes his weary I'm-so-disgusted-with-you face -- so he tosses a couple of twenties on the table to pay for his meal, adds another for "whatever the tip is," and unfolds lazily from his chair, stretching his arms far up for good measure, so all that lean mass and new muscle is momentarily on display, thrown into relief. Chris jerks his gaze away quickly, but he knows he was openly staring. Seb leans across the table to kiss Hayley, then Scarlett, both on the mouth, slaps hands with Mackie, and then claps Chris on one shoulder, bearing down hard. When he lets go, a piece of paper, this time folded up tightly into a dense small square, falls down onto the napkin spread over Chris's lap. Chris watches him leave over his shoulder, slipping easily through the crowd, only getting snagged once or twice for a selfie or an autograph. When he turns back around, three pairs of eyes are fixed on him.

"None of you," he threatens, "say one. Single. Fucking. Word."

They all just giggle. Including, yes, Mackie. Chris palms the note and transfers it to his pants pocket, intending to open it when he is far, far away from all of them. Scarlett does her best pout, but he just smiles nicely at her.

After Mackie orders a giant piece of tiramisu, mainly so the girls can steal half of it from his plate, the servers can't hold out any longer and ask shyly for autographs. Scarlett actually winds up signing the most -- it seems like every woman seated nearby, young and old, is a Black Widow fan -- and for a joke, Chris makes George Washington into a Cap self-portrait on a dollar bill, adding the "A" on his forehead, the white star, and even the wings on the cowl. The girl he draws it for actually screams and says she's going to immediately have it framed, which is a little embarrassing, but at least she didn't ask him to write out a line from the movie and get it tattooed on her skin _in his handwriting,_ which has happened to Sebastian, and not just once, either. He's heard a few people have gotten Steve's cultural catch-up list as a tattoo, though, which feels oddly flattering. All the while, Sebastian's note is burning like a coal against his leg, the thick folded edges pressing through the light fabric of his slacks.

Hayley asks Scarlett over to a group several tables away because they want to know what she thinks about Dottie Underwood on _Agent Carter,_ and Chris is left staring at the wreckage of Mackie's tiramisu. Mackie pushes the plate over, but Chris shakes his head and slides it back.

"Damn, Spitfire is right -- one bite won't kill you," Mackie scolds. Chris shakes his head again.

"It's easier for me to be all-or-nothing. Once I fuck up -- it feels hard to stop." He cuts himself off before he can get too self-pitying and rotates his empty beer bottle restlessly on the tabletop.

Mackie slouches back in his chair, looking like he wants to say something, but takes a long sip of his coffee instead; it looks like the substitute for lighting up a cigarette. Chris rolls the bottle back and forth between his palms, remembering how Seb's fingers felt under his, how tightly they both held on. Mackie seems like he's thinking over what he wants to say, which is unusual.

Mackie looks over at Hayley and Scarlett, who are still surrounded by a small mob, both delighted, arms around each others' waists. He grins and raises his coffee cup in salute, and Scarlett gives him one of her big exaggerated open-mouthed winks without missing a beat. He and Chris both laugh. 

"Started at the bottom, now we here," Mackie says, and Chris replies, "Yeah....yeah, it's crazy." 

Mackie takes in a long, slow breath, lets it out again, finally starts talking.

"I ever tell you about the first film I did? Not the first one, really, but the first one I had the big part in." Chris shakes his head, honestly curious; he just hopes this isn't going to be story-swapping time, because then he'll have to talk about _Cellular,_ and he has to be drunk for that. Very drunk. "It was called _Brother to Brother"_ \-- Chris can't remember hearing about it -- "little, tiny, indie film. Did pretty good at Sundance, though. The director -- he wrote it, too -- lent me this book, it had the same title as the movie. It was edited by a poet named Essex Hemphill." Mackie smiles at Chris ruefully. "You wouldn't've heard of him -- nobody's really heard of him, he died of AIDS when he was thirty-eight."

Chris can't speak for a moment, thinking of stories his brother's told him about his older friends, how many of them know dozens of men who died in the 1990s. _I've been to more funerals than my grandmother,_ one had said to Scott. "That's a damn shame," he says quietly.

"Yeah. It was. But the reason I brought him up....his signoff was, 'Take care of your blessings.' I got interested in him, I started learning more about him -- that was how he ended conversations, letters, practically everything. Someone asked him what it meant, in an interview, and he said -- some people can bake, some people write, some paint. Some people are mathematicians, some are musicians. Some of us are very strong and candid, and some people are nurturers, or combinations of those kinds of things. And what he meant, he said, was just....to be aware of what your particular things are and nurture them, use them." Mackie looks Chris right in the eye. "So he told people," he says softly, so Chris has to strain over the ambient restaurant noise to hear him, "untie your tongues, take care of your blessings." 

Chris doesn't want to say anything right back, the moment's too good; then he asks Mackie to text him the poet's name so he knows he has the right spelling, and saves the message there at the table, wanting to be sure he can find it later. He knows Mackie's not much into Zen and similar stuff -- he's a man of the world if ever there was one -- but _take care of your blessings_ seems to fit into Chris's personal philosophy well enough he wants to think about it, know more about the person who came up with it. He thinks there's another meaning to Mackie's quoting it to him, too, but he wants to look up the book in privacy. As he's putting his phone back in his pocket, his hand brushes Sebastian's note, so he takes it out and unfolds it. Mackie smiles and looks away, sipping his coffee.

Chris smooths out the paper on his thigh, not wanting to spread it flat on the table, and all it says is _Come to my room whenever you're done,_ the writing a little less neat and aligned than in the other notes, but it hits him like a jolt of ice water, and it seems to have a hidden message, like _untie your tongues. Take care of your blessings._ But he'll have to wait until tonight to try to figure it out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Jesus...." Seb shakes his head, then kisses him again, hard and searching, but still not desperate, not like he's been before, when it was like he needed to breathe Chris in like oxygen. He grips Chris's shoulders hard, and this time Chris balls his hands into fists to remind himself not to touch Sebastian, then slowly opens them up, lets go, feels himself relax and tries to sink into the feeling again. Sebastian rests his forehead against Chris's and says, "You fuck me up, you know that? Worse than anybody ever has."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the delay in posting this installment, but as I was working on it, it BLEW UP on me into a Chapter of Unusual Size and so I decided to end it at a natural stopping point and now this story has three chapters, not two (and _that better be all)_. The third chapter will go up faster than this one did, I SWEAR, although I am such an immense flake I could be a blizzard all by myself. Thank you guys so much for the lovely encouraging comments, even though I have barely responded to them! They really do make a difference, and I read every one. 
> 
> There's one more story planned after I finish this one, and then an epilogue, set sometime in the future (haven't decided exactly when yet). This thing has really taken off since its start as a Yuletide Treat for a dear friend of mine, and it's been wild seeing it grow. (And grow.)
> 
> This chapter has rimming, fingering, mild angst, an argument, bondage without restraints (I don't know quite what it's called -- "self-restraint" looked wrong) and someone making a big mistake.

Chris considers it a fairly good measure of how far gone he is for his co-star that he's walking down the hotel hallway well past ten at night, after a grueling day that started late and ran later. He doesn't have any visible bruises right now, but a bunch of the sore red marks he knows from experience will start darkening overnight, mostly on his left shoulder and hip, which he had to repeatedly fall on. He knows his muscles are going stiff after the overexertion, that if he doesn't relax and take it easy tonight he'll wake up like the start of that old movie _North Dallas Forty,_ but he can't really feel it. His breath's stuck high and fast in his chest, he's wide awake, and nervous as hell, which in him tends to spin into anxiety if he doesn't watch out. He knocks twice, not loud, although he sent Seb a message about five minutes ago when he got back to his room and changed into a clean T-shirt and sweats: _Done for the day (night)._ He doesn't think anybody could read anything into that; not much of anything, anyway. Everyone in Hollywood got paranoid after the Sony email and nude photo hacks, which made him want to kill someone on Scarlett's behalf, but he's never been able to hide much for long -- not in interviews, not in his private life. But then the knowledge of _what_ it is he has to hide now buzzes right under his skin and he finds it hard to think straight.

Maybe that's Seb's problem too, because the door flies open right after Chris knocks on it and Sebastian pulls him in -- not hard, but not something Chris can really resist, either, even if he wanted to, mostly because he's off-balance and surprised. Sebastian slams the door behind him and doesn't shove him up against it, like in the locker room, but takes Chris's face in his hands and kisses him long and deep. Chris moves to put his hands on Sebastian's waist, or his hips, feel up under his loose black T-shirt or down those clingy sweatpants, but Sebastian lets go of his face and grips his wrists tight instead, down by his sides. Chris is surprised again -- or still, it's hard to tell which -- but he eagerly goes along with it, letting his arms go slack in the same way he lets Seb suck on his tongue, bite his lower lip hard, then lick it in apology. Sebastian kisses the edge of his jaw, trails his tongue down Chris's neck, presses his open mouth to Chris's Tolle tattoo until it feels like he's trying to taste the ink.

"You like them?" Chris doesn't know he's going to ask until he hears himself; he sometimes feels self-conscious about his tattoos now, like maybe it was a mistake to get so many when he was so young, and it's always a pain to spend another hour in the makeup chair getting them covered up. 

Sebastian looks up at him without raising his head, eyes dark, mouth red, his hair wild. "Yeah," he says, sounding almost like Chris woke him up. "Yeah, they make you look....like a book, maybe. Written-on. It's hot." Then he gets impatient with the collar of Chris's shirt and releases his wrists so he can pull it off, and when Chris reaches out to strip Seb out of his own T-shirt, Seb pushes his hands away.

"No -- no, stay still. Don't move. Unless I tell you." He stops and looks right at Chris, breathing hard and raking his hair out of his eyes a couple of times, like he's waiting for Chris to say no. Chris breathes "Okay," so soft he can hardly hear himself, and Sebastian leans in to kiss him again. Chris does what he was told and doesn't move, not even to tilt his head to give Seb easier access to his mouth, but he's not ready for how all-consuming it feels, not to be able to respond, to _stay still_ and let Sebastian just have him. Chris tries to give in to the feeling, let it burn up all his endless anxiety and anticipation and second-guessing, and Seb must feel the tension in his body because he stops again, his mouth barely brushing Chris's ear so Chris senses the vibration when Sebastian says: "Trust me?"

Chris wants to say _yes,_ because he does, more than anyone he's ever been with up to now, which is scary. He shuts his eyes and nods, not trusting himself to say anything this time, and feels Sebastian's long fingers trail down his neck, then his chest, over his stomach to the waistband of his sweatpants, and then Seb pulls them off, not letting them fall softly with their own momentum like he did their first night together, but a controlled slide of the fabric all the way down over Chris's skin that makes him shiver. He hisses through his teeth, wanting to obey Sebastian, and Seb says, "Hey, it's okay, you're doing good, so good...." He kisses Chris's ankle to get him to lift up his feet, first one, then the other, so Seb can get rid of the sweatpants, and Chris is left staring at Sebastian kneeling in front of him, which might be the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. Seb closes his eyes and licks along the line of Chris's hip, and when Chris automatically lifts his hand to run his fingers through Seb's hair or over the side of his face, Seb grabs his wrists again, without looking up or opening his eyes. "Don't _move,"_ he says, his voice sharper. Chris staggers, and not because he's off-balance this time.

Seb gets up off his knees somehow without jerking on Chris's arms or pulling on them much at all -- his thighs must be solid muscle -- and kisses him, soft now, his tongue gentle and silky, not thrusting and probing, but holding onto Chris's wrists hard. Chris shuts his eyes and lets everything else fade away, the whole world outside them, willingly forgetting everything but Sebastian's tongue in his mouth, his lips on Chris's lips and face and throat, his hands burning on Chris's skin. Right as the hold starts to feel too tight, Seb lets go and pulls away from Chris at the same time, so Chris comes back a little, air cooling on his skin, hands remaining lax by his sides like he doesn't know what to do with them unless Sebastian tells him. Sebastian stares at Chris and says, barely audible although he's inches away, "I want you -- I want to fuck you. Now."

"Okay," Chris says immediately, without even thinking.

"Jesus...." Seb shakes his head, then kisses him again, hard and searching, but still not desperate, not like he's been before, when it was like he needed to breathe Chris in like oxygen. He grips Chris's shoulders hard, and this time Chris balls his hands into fists to remind himself not to touch Sebastian, then slowly opens them up, lets go, feels himself relax and tries to sink into the feeling again. Sebastian rests his forehead against Chris's and says, "You fuck me up, you know that? Worse than anybody ever has."

Chris smiles but has to ask -- he can't not, it's just his nature -- "You okay? You're -- all right with this?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Sebastian says dismissively, with a glint of private amusement. Chris rolls his eyes.

"Don't bullshit a bullshitter."

"Oh, nice. I'm not bullshitting, I'm....I just...." Seb puts his hand on Chris's cheek, strokes along his jawline, his neck, over his left shoulder, the Taurus sign on his left arm. "Come on," he says softly, "get on the bed."

"And don't move, right?" Chris asks, letting Sebastian draw him in. "You gonna tie me down?" He can't control the way his cock twitches at him saying it, but he feels slightly weird about it, too. He's let some girls restrain him before, but not for long, and the idea of not actually being able to get free because Sebastian knows what he's doing is hot, but overwhelming.

Seb takes hold of Chris's hips and turns him around, walking him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He presses Chris down, not quite a push but firm, and stands there with his hands on Chris's shoulders, looking down at him, his hair falling around his face. "I _could,"_ he says thoughtfully. Chris feels his mouth go dry. "But you know what....I don't think I'll have to." He lifts one hand to Chris's face, cupping his jaw in his palm, fingers stroking up underneath his ear. "I don't think you _want_ that. I think...." Seb tilts his head, gazing right at Chris: studying him. "I think you like staying still for me. Like the first time. No ropes, no cuffs, whatever. Just you."

"Yeah," Chris says in a voice so hoarse he barely recognizes it. 

"Okay." Seb pushes gently on Chris's shoulders again, coaxing. "Lie down. And, yeah....don't move." Chris obeys, his dick already so hard he feels like he could hammer nails with it. He flattens his hands on the bedspread, spreads his fingers out, then relaxes, trying to imagine he's bound with rope, zip ties, hell, those movie magnetic handcuffs....Seb is still on his feet, looking at Chris, his own hardon clearly outlined through his sweatpants. Chris wants to reach over and touch it, rest his face against it, nuzzle it....he's never felt so frustrated in his life. As if he can read Chris's mind, or more likely his face, Seb laughs a little, then slips off his loose T-shirt, slowly, and pulls his tank over his head, his chest and arm muscles flexing. Chris groans. Seb pulls off his pants, and his beautiful, fully erect cock is inches above Chris's face, and Chris can't do anything about it.

Chris says, "If you kill me, you don't get any," and Seb laughs again -- surprised this time. "Or wait, am I not supposed to talk? Do I have to pretend you gagged me too?" Sebastian makes a face.

"I'm not much into those....Oh, you can talk, all right." He smiles down at Chris, and he's gorgeous -- confident, teasing, fully in control. "You can talk all you want. I like it when you talk."

"Usually....I talk a lot more," Chris admits. 

"I _thought_ you'd be a talker in bed -- I shut you up, hunh?" There's that bad-boy smirk, the one Chris was waiting for, usually put on for the cameras but here, now, only for him: the one that says _I'm going to do just what I want with you and you're going to love it._

"A little bit, yeah....you like that?" Chris teases back.

"Yeah. I do. But I like hearing you talk too."

"Yeah?" Chris figures Sebastian is maybe saying he wants Chris to use getting wound up from not being able to move into letting it rip, not that that's going to be a fucking problem. He never has any problem babbling shit. It feels good that Sebastian doesn't mind that, or think he's an idiot, that he even....likes it. Chris has always considered his inability to think before he talks one of his worst flaws.

"Yeah. Remember, now....stay still." Seb finally sits on the bed, puts his hands on either side of Chris's hips, not touching, bends over and wraps his lips around only the head of Chris's dick, keeping eye contact with Chris the entire time. Chris feels like he's going to pass out. _"Oh --_ oh, God -- " Seb sucks lightly, using his teeth just a little, the slightest scrape of the edges against Chris's skin. Chris keeps himself from writhing with effort and gasps, "If you don't want me to come right now -- "

Sebastian chuckles, letting Chris's cock slip out between his wet lips, mouthing and licking it. "No -- no, not yet." He moves up to kiss Chris again, his body covering Chris, chest to chest, Seb's thigh between his, warm and hard, pressing on his cock and Chris has never wanted to thrust up against someone so badly in his life. Chris clutches at the bedspread, which probably counts as moving, but hell, he needs _something_ \-- Sebastian says, "That's okay, you're good. Here, turn over now...." He rolls off Chris and guides his movement, keeping one hand on his shoulder, then his back. "You need to hold on, hunh....grab the edge of the mattress, right there." Chris reaches up and grips it obediently, and it's good -- resistant, but there's a raised seam he can hang onto, and the padded headboard, like the one in his room, means he won't scrape his knuckles against the wall. "You good? Okay....don't let go."

"Yeah," Chris groans, his voice muffled. He can feel his cock drag against the bedspread, too small an amount of maddening friction, and it's driving him crazy not to grind against it. Sebastian slides his hand down Chris's spine, from between his shoulders all the way to stopping short of his ass, and very slowly up again, finally resting on the back of Chris's neck. He squeezes once, hard, and Chris feels his shoulders easing.

"You look so good like that," Sebastian says, very low, "all waiting and ready, just for me, to....You want me to? How bad do you want --"

"I want you to," Chris gasps. "I want you -- need you, Seb, whatever you want, please -- " No matter what Sebastian wants, he's willing to beg for it.

"All right," Sebastian says immediately, "it's all right...." He kisses the back of Chris's neck, warm and slow, sucking slightly, then trails his tongue down Chris's spine where his hand was a moment before, a light, tantalizing touch, fucking _teasing,_ with occasional kisses and scrapes of his teeth. Chris shudders and pants open-mouthed but manages not to move, somehow. This time Sebastian's fingers don't stop, but lightly trace the curve of Chris's hip, over his ass, to the inside of his thigh, and then under, as he gently pushes and Chris spreads his legs in response. Seb doesn't try massage to get Chris to relax, but keeps running his hands over Chris's lower back, his ass, the backs of his thighs, and then he kisses the very inside of Chris's thigh, his mouth hot but soft, then opens his mouth and uses his tongue. "Oh, my God," Chris moans, and he thinks he hears -- feels against his skin, really -- Sebastian murmuring _shhh,_ the way Chris did with him. 

Chris can't shove up or lift his hips off the bed to show Sebastian he's ready, and Sebastian keeps on kissing and licking and stroking him lightly everywhere but _right there,_ and Chris feels like he's going to pop so he says, "You're gonna kill me, you're gonna fucking kill me, and _then_ what are you gonna do? Are you into necrophilia? Jesus, _God,_ I thought you were gonna -- "

Sebastian stops, just for a second, so he can oh-so-sweetly ask "Gonna _what?"_ before he keeps on torturing Chris with light brushes of his fingers and lips.

"I thought you were gonna....oh, my God, this is payback or something, for when I made you say it."

"Say what?" Sebastian asks, even more nicely, but he nips at Chris's thigh -- not that hard, but hard enough.

 _"Hey!_ Oh, Jesus, you bastard....I thought you were gonna eat me out, _eat my ass,_ that's what you said, please, Seb, please do it, you got me so bad, I'm ready to fuck the blankets here. Please," Chris says, his laughter on the verge of turning into something else, _"please."_

"Okay, shh, it's all right, just wait." Seb rubs his hands in gentle circles over Chris's ass, then slips them in between Chris's legs, holding his cheeks apart, and the first touch of his tongue on Chris's hole is is warm and wet and electric, almost obscene -- Chris can't help rocking back into it with his hips, and Seb lightly slaps his thigh, a momentary sting and a warning: _don't move._

"You're gonna fucking _kill me,"_ Chris mutters again, and winds up trying to push himself through the mattress, it feels like, as Seb works his hole over with his tongue. He doesn't go deep, but uses lots of short stroking licks -- _like the way he shaved me,_ Chris remembers dimly -- and open-mouthed kisses. Seb also fondles Chris's thighs and ass the whole time without letting up, so Chris finds it hard to focus on either sensation and both wind up feeling more intense, so he's more at the mercy of what's happening than ever. Sebastian keeps his tongue soft, moving it slowly, and it feels like liquid heat. Chris can't (won't) turn his head to look over his shoulder, but he thinks Seb is on his knees behind him, and picturing that makes him clutch the mattress seam until his fingers hurt. He really doesn't understand why it's taken him the whole of his life until _now_ to try this, but he thinks he could happily spend the rest of it being eaten out by Sebastian. No wonder the girls who let him do this needed a break afterward. It takes a while for the pleasure to really build up, so he's actually glad Sebastian's going so slowly, but when it finally hits him, it's intense, a breaking wave dragging him under. Sebastian's squeezing his inner thighs hard, in a steady rhythm, as he circles Chris's hole with his tongue in the same rhythm, and Chris manages: "If you don't stop I'm gonna come right now."

Sebastian stops but doesn't let go, and sounds hesitant when he asks: "Is that a....problem?" From the sound of his voice, he's up on his elbows, and Chris can barely feel his warm breath over the skin of his lower back. Chris would give a lot to be able to see Seb's face right now, to reassure him with a smile or a kiss, but instead he sighs.

"Yeah, um, it might be -- I get -- oversensitive, I don't know, right after I come, and anything else is -- too much. For a little while. Sorry," he adds absurdly.

But Seb doesn't seem put out at all, only says "Hmm" in a considering way, gently rubbing Chris's thighs absently, and then "All right," like he's making his mind up. He moves over on the bed, and Chris feels a shocking wetness underneath him, which has to be Sebastian's saliva as much as his own precome. Jesus, his ass must be soaked. Sebastian's messing with stuff on the nightstand Chris didn't get a good chance to look at before and now can't really see -- the glint of light off a long tube (at least, he fucking hopes that's a tube of something), a hotel bathroom glass with a clear green liquid in it, water bottles, sealed baggies....He shuts his eyes, trying not to tense up. Sebastian sits on the bed next to him, but doesn't touch him. "Hey," he says quietly.

Chris opens his eyes, knowing that's what Sebastian wants. "Hey," he says back, weakly. Sebastian smiles at him.

"You know, you can just say the word....if you want me to stop...."

"I don't want you to stop," Chris says honestly. "I can't lie, some of it feels...weird. But I don't want to stop."

Sebastian sighs, a long breath out, and nods, maybe more nervous than he's letting on -- like usual -- and Chris feels a strange kind of solidarity: it's weird, it's new, but they're in it together. It's definitely a fucking _strange_ feeling to have during sex, one he's definitely never had before (not even with the girl who had his cherry -- no, especially not then). He didn't lie, he doesn't want to stop. But he doesn't know what not stopping really means, either.

Seb taps the side of his cheek, very gently, but Chris starts anyway. Sebastian smiles in apology. "Hey," he murmurs. "Come back."

"Sorry -- I just get so lost in my own damn head -- "

Seb touches his cheek again, not a tap this time, smoothing his fingers down Chris's jaw, to his mouth, and rests his fingertips on Chris's lips. "That's what this is about. Some of it." His own mouth is wet, like he drank something, and Chris thinks he smells something sharp and antiseptic, and fake mint -- mouthwash, that's it. Sebastian must have poured some out into that glass earlier, so he wouldn't have to leave Chris and go into the bathroom for it. "It's okay. You just get a little spun up, is all. Like a...." His grin is mischeivous, and Chris rolls his eyes in anticipation. "High-strung thoroughbred! That's it."

"Fuck you," Chris mutters, mock-snapping at Sebastian's hand. Sebastian keeps grinning at him.

"Oh, that's later. If you're good."

"I thought that was if _you_ were good," Chris sasses back, and is rewarded with one of Sebastian's real smiles: eyes crinkling shut, mouth open, head bending forward. If he could carry a picture of Seb in his wallet, if they could date like regular people, he'd want it to be taken at a moment like that. 

"You fucking brat," Sebastian says, lying on the bed next to Chris, on his left side, dropping the tube on the bed where Chris can see it. Chris doesn't think his muscles tense up or his breathing changes, but Seb starts rubbing his back. "Shh, it's okay, not yet," he whispers in Chris's ear, almost tickling, then licks and kisses his way down Chris's neck and up again, while he keeps massaging Chris's shoulders and lower back in slow, hard circles until Chris is almost drowsy and really turned on again at the same time. "There you go, yeah," Sebastian says, like he's gotten somewhere, and picks up the lube. Chris hears the cap click on the nightstand, and then Sebastian rubbing his hands together, probably warming it up so it's not too cold. He drags one slick finger down Chris's spine and then Chris feels Seb's thumb in the crease where his buttocks start. Seb slides his hand in further, his right palm against Chris's inner thigh as he spreads Chris's legs. Chris feels Seb's fingers, cooler than normal and _really_ fucking slick as they circle Chris's hole, not probing, barely pressing around and around, because Seb wants him to explode or completely lose his mind, or both. They're at the wrong angle for Seb to kiss him, but Seb puts his mouth against the back of Chris's neck, just breathing in and out with him, slightly twisted so his front's against Chris's side and his cock digs into Chris's upper thigh. Chris can feel Seb's breath against his skin, hot and slow, as his fingers keep slowly, _very_ slowly, circling, each time just a little more, but then easing up. _"Seb -- "_ he complains or begs or encourages, he doesn't fucking know anymore.

"Yeah?" Seb says quietly, like he isn't making Chris lose his mind by breathing heavy in his ear and moving two of his fingers in about an inch-wide circle. "What do you want?"

"Seb, please" -- they're so close together Chris can hear Seb's breathing catch at that -- "oh, God, come on, man, stop fucking teasing. I want you, I want...."

"What do you want?" Seb asks, not letting up at all. He kisses the side of Chris's neck for good measure. "Tell me what you want me to do to you. I wanna hear it."

Chris is torn between the twin desires to let go the mattress so he can ding Sebastian on the side of the head, and babbling out whatever Sebastian wants to hear, anything. He grits his teeth. "Touch me -- "

"I _am_ touching you." Sebastian sounds serene, and pushes slightly in at the top of one circle to make his point. Chris groans.

"You fucker. Touch me -- God, I want you to -- I want you to fuck me, whatever you do to get me ready, lick me, suck me, finger-fuck me, please, please touch me, open me up, get me open for you, I want you to fuck me, _God,_ Seb, I want you so fucking much...." Chris's voice cracks and he swears his eyes are wet. 

Seb is kissing his neck, his shoulder, the side of his throat, anywhere he can reach while they're positioned like this. "I will, Chris, I will, I'll get you ready -- it'll be good, so good for you. I want it to be good. It's okay, you did great. Breathe in, a good deep breath for me, just like that -- you do whatever I say, so good, it's so fucking hot," he says, and Chris inhales deeply as he can while Seb works his index finger in. At first it feels foreign and _wrong,_ even something Chris knows is slicked-up and small, and he feels a clutch of panic, he's so _exposed._ But then -- he guesses -- he stretches, or relaxes, and the faint burn turns into a feeling of warmth, spreading all through him. To say it's not like anything he expected would be wrong, because he didn't know what it would be like, but under the fear and the oddness and discomfort as Seb slides his finger in and out, again and again, is a strange kind of pleasure just this side of pain, that makes him want _more_ and _again_ and _more, please, more,_ unaware he's chanting it out loud until Seb finally says _we're going slow, Chris, we gotta go slow, right now._ Chris groans in disappointment, and he can't rock back onto Seb's hand, but that turns out to be a good thing because when Seb finally does push a second finger in too Chris tenses involuntarily and it _hurts_ \-- but then Seb must ding his prostate, which Chris has heard about (well, read about, on the internet) and if it doesn't make him pass out and splinter his teeth grinding them together and come untouched right there, which had been the impression he'd gotten from a lot of websites, it wipes out the pain and his higher brain functions along with it. _"Jesus_ oh Jesus do that again, do that again," he says, louder than he wants. "Bossy, bossy," Seb murmurs right in his ear, but he does it again, then again, and each time Chris feels a jolt of that pain-pleasure so intense he doesn't know what he's saying, but Sebastian must like it because Chris can feel him rocking up against him, his cock slick and sliding against Chris's skin. 

Sebastian stops moving, then draws his fingers out more slowly than seems humanly possible while Chris lies there, flattened to the bed so completely he feels like something out of an old cartoon. He hears the crinkle and rip of what must be a condom packet and then Seb rolls away from him, that side suddenly chill and more than a little wet, putting the condom on and slicking it up from what Chris can make out. He braces himself, but Sebastian says, "Chris....Chris, you can move now, okay?"

"Okay," Chris mumbles, although he's never felt less like moving in his life.

"I think...." Sebastian says, and he sounds so unsure, so unlike before, Chris comes to a bit. "I don't....I want....I'm gonna get on my back. Like this...." He lies down next to Chris, nudging him to get him to move over, and Chris lets go of the edge of the mattress in surprise and does so -- his fingers aren't cramped, but God, are they stiff. "And you can -- get on me, go at your own speed. I think....that'll work."

"Yeah, okay," Chris says, a little doubtful -- but Seb has a point. If Chris can control how fast they go, what kind of movement, it'll be like a girl getting on top of _him,_ when she's able to set the pace, with the added bonus that Sebastian can play with his dick. He gets up on his hands and knees, wincing as his fingers protest, and his ass does feel slightly sore, but....a good sore, like muscle groups after a good workout. He tries to drop whatever insecurities and anxieties are still rattling around in his brain's sub-basement: this is all brand-new, every minute of it, and he should do what Seb said and try to just feel it. He straddles Seb, so their cocks rub together, and through the lube and latex he can feel how hard Sebastian is and can't resist reaching for him.

Sebastian must think he's trying to fuck himself on his cock _right then_ (Jesus, no), because he catches Chris's wrist and pulls him in for a kiss, and then keeps kissing him like there's nothing else in the world, like they're not going to fuck, like they're lazily making out on a free afternoon and both of them know eventually it'll heat up and they'll want something more, but in no kind of hurry, exploring each other. Sebastian urges Chris forward, reaches down and starts working him open again, less slowly than before, so there's more of a burn but with Seb kissing him at the same time it's like hot together with cold and the pain shorts out, leaving Chris only with the feeling of opening, yielding, being more exposed and vulnerable than he's ever been with anyone else. Chris realizes some part of him is thinking, almost delighted, _this isn't bad, I can do this, it can be good, we can do it,_ and he breaks free of Sebastian's mouth to whisper, "I want to -- I want all of you, to be in me, fuck me," and Sebastian lies down, his eyes very dark and unreadable, but he says _Yes._ Chris leans back and Sebastian runs his hands across Chris's shoulders, over his chest, his stomach, openly admiring, not those light teasing touches but long strokes, his palms flat and fingers spread wide, caressing Chris's sides down to his hips and up again. 

Chris moves closer, biting his lip, and Sebastian lines them up, his eyes huge, but doesn't move, he's waiting entirely on Chris. "Do it so it's good for you," he says, voice so low and raspy it's almost like he's unhappy, like he's begging Chris instead. "I don't -- don't let me hurt you."

"You won't," Chris says, and it's almost true, because if Sebastian wants Chris to slide onto his slicked cock even more carefully than when Seb was first fingering him, Chris wrecks that by pushing hard enough he feels the blunt tip of Seb's cock thrust past the ring of muscle and he gasps -- it's worse than the burn he first felt with Seb's two fingers, a lot worse, and he knows he's involuntarily clenching up around Seb and increasing the pain. He breathes out loud and slow, trying to inch down as he exhales, but he's bracing himself on Seb's shoulders and he sees he's gripping Seb so hard his knuckles are almost white. That has to hurt, but Seb's saying instead, "Chris, wait, this is hurting you, _wait -- "_

It's too much, too fast, too hard, but Chris wants it, wants to get off on that, on feeling overwhelmed, and if it had been Seb doing this to him he might have shouted for him to stop or begged for mercy, but he wants this, he wants to take it -- he groans in spite of himself, easing up on Seb and trying to let gravity work him down further onto Seb's cock. The burn flares, turns white-hot, and he knows his body's sending him a warning.

"Chris!" Sebastian's voice is loud and hard. "Not if it hurts, I won't hurt you -- "

Shocked, Chris opens his eyes and stops moving -- he probably didn't even make it a quarter inch in -- and stares at Sebastian helplessly. "It's gonna hurt," he breathes, "I know that, I can handle it...." He's stopped moving, but the pain doesn't let up -- somehow, it increases, making him wince.

Sebastian looks upset, but at least not angry, and he says, more quietly, "No, Chris, I made a mistake. It's on me, okay? Come on....Bend forward, put your hands on the bed....yeah, that's right. Okay. Breathe out," and right as he does Sebastian takes hold of his hips and pushes Chris off him, which probably hurts a lot less than it might because Seb's losing his hardon fast, faster than Chris is. It still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch, and Chris lands heavily on the bed, the pain sharp but already better, less throbbing. Sebastian rubs his hands over his face hard, leaves them there a minute, then rakes them through his hair. But when he turns to look at Chris, he still doesn't seem angry.

"What the fuck am I gonna do with you, hunh?" he says, wearily affectionate, and reaches out to mess up Chris's hair. Chris moves his head so his mouth catches the side of Sebastian's hand, and he reaches up, keeps it pressed against his lips. Sebastian gently breaks Chris's hold so he can trace Chris's mouth with his fingers.

"I'm sorry," Chris says, and Sebastian shakes his head, lets his hand fall back on the bed between them.

"It's not your fault -- I should've known that wasn't going to work, you didn't really want -- "

"I could have said something. I didn't, so it's on m-- "

" -- no, in case you hadn't _noticed,_ I'm the one who's supposed to -- "

"What the fuck? You didn't give it a chance -- I won't _break -- "_

Chris knows it's mainly the adrenaline and tension of the sex going wrong that's fueling the argument, but it feels dangerously good to raise his voice anyway. Sebastian ends it by shaking his head and sitting up. He looks down at Chris and says, firmly, "I won't do it like that, no....I won't....I don't want you to use me to, hurt yourself." He's trying to sound firm but his voice changes on the last few words and he looks away.

Chris feels heartsick. "I, no, it wasn't like that...." He reaches up to Seb's face, running his fingers along Seb's stark jawline, not trying to get Seb to look at him. Seb sighs and leans into Chris's touch.

"I know you trust me," he says, his voice tired, closing his eyes. "But....I have to feel like I can trust you, too, like you're not going to just ignore pain that bad and not listen to me when I tell you to back off, or stop, even if it's something _you're_ doing, not me." Chris takes a gamble and lets his hand slip to Seb's shoulder, then tugs at him gently so they're lying side-by-side again. Seb lets him, but keeps on talking. 

"It's like I told you...." Sebastian opens his eyes and stares straight up at the ceiling. "It's about pushing limits. Not _no_ limits, not....forcing yourself to do something you don't....We have to be able to do it together, to trust each other. That was part of why I wanted you to pick a safeword, it wasn't that I thought we'd need it, or that I thought _you'd_ think...." He shakes his head, starts over. "It's not like I wasn't going to listen if you said 'no' unless you safeworded out. That wasn't it. But if you've _got_ one, you know....there's limits." He stares at Chris, and Chris sees with shock Sebastian's eyes are full of tears, but he's not letting them affect the sound of his voice. "You don't have to take it," he says. "Not like that, not with me, not ever. I need to know _you_ know that."

"I'm sorry," Chris says again, a lot more heartfelt this time -- ordinarily he'd be tied up in all kinds of knots about how _he_ fucked up and ruined this and now it's over, but it's like he can't think about himself right now. The pain is almost gone, only a dull soreness now, and he wonders if he hurt Sebastian worse than he might've hurt himself. He reaches out, not feeling like he has the right but unable to stop himself from doing it anyway, and touches the corner of Sebastian's eyelid with his thumb, like he can wipe away the tears Sebastian isn't letting fall. "I didn't....I guess I just didn't realize. I didn't know." He can't say it again, so he whispers, almost without breath, _I'm sorry._

Sebastian shuts his eyes, and the motion does release his tears, but they streak silently down his temples like they don't have anything to do with him. His wet eyelashes look even darker and longer. Chris bends over Seb, kisses where his face is wet, opens his lips and tastes salt. Seb lets out a choked sigh and turns his face up to Chris's, kissing him back, and Chris moves over, covering Sebastian's body like a mirror image of how they were not that long ago. He kisses Seb gently, letting Seb lift up to meet his mouth, nuzzles under Sebastian's chin, kisses the spot over the pulse in his throat. 

"We could....just stop, for right now," he suggests, really hating the idea, but knowing he has to say it, to give Seb that space if he needs it. "I mean -- for tonight, if you -- or I could just....leave, if you want -- "

"No," Sebastian sighs against his mouth, and Chris feels relief rush through him like adrenaline. "No, I don't want you to go -- not after that. Not if....I want you to stay with me....maybe we could just....make out a little? I don't know...."

"I dunno, you're kind of a crap kisser," Chris says, and can't help kissing Sebastian as he laughs. He slides over all the way on top of Seb, still feeling the relief that he's allowed, wanted, _here,_ sink through his muscles, settle into what feels like the marrow of his bones. They just kiss for a while, not as aimlessly as before, both wanting to give reassurance, pleasure. He mouths the side of Sebastian's neck again, finding the sensitive spots so he can suck there, and licks the hollow of his throat. "You sure you want me to stay?" he murmurs into Sebastian's skin, only half joking.

Seb runs one hand up Chris's side, thigh to ribcage, grasps the back of his neck with the other. "I always want you to stay," he says, and Chris has to stop to take that into himself for a moment, like drinking ice-cold water right after a workout, or feeling sunlight hit your skin walking outside. "Yeah. If _you_ want to stay, after I fucked up so bad -- "

"Excuse you, I think I am the champion of fucking up, Alternative Lifestyles Division I, this evening," Chris says. "And I'm still sorry."

"Yeah, well, you were the newb innocent who trusted me to take you under my wing, and -- "

"What the actual _fuck?_ I am, in point of fact, _older_ than you," Chris protests, and bites Sebastian's lower lip.

"By less than a year!" The teasing feels a little weak and forced, not as natural as usual, but Chris feels glad anyway, like it's how they're trying to let each other know they're okay. He deliberately rubs his stiffening cock against Sebastian's stomach and whispers in his ear, "I'm older than you and I always will be."

"Fuck off -- " Sebastian bucks up with his hips, and Chris gasps. He can feel Seb's getting harder, too, and slides down so he can grind up against him. Seb groans. "You don't -- fucking play fair, either."

"Never do," Chris smirks in what he knows is a pretty damn good imitation of Sebastian being smug, and Sebastian kisses him hard to shut him up, which Chris takes as a win.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seb says, "Up for me, come on, raise up a little for me, let me reach -- " and starts to pull out, but Chris interrupts: "No -- no, get me off while you're still inside, please, Seb, I want to feel you. In me. When I come. I need to. Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this installment wound up being even longer than the previous one. //facepalm I hope this won't become a TREND. Once again, I'm sorry for the delay, although I think it wasn't as long as last time, at least? And again, thank you for all the lovely comments! They were great incentive to keep going. I hope this ending makes up for the sorta-cliffhanger (or at least unresolved chord) from chapter two.
> 
> This last chapter does contain smoking, in case that might bother some readers (I used to smoke but quit long ago). The _Now, Voyager_ cigarette-lighting scene Seb mentions is still sex onna stick, at least for me. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-KGiwGn1d8
> 
> There's one more story after this one, and then an epilogue, and I've finally decided when that takes place (probably in the future after Civil War's been out for a while), so this is (slowly) finishing up.
> 
> I wanted to post this on the 10th for Bucky's 99th birthday, but didn't quiiite finish in time. Happy birthday Buckaroo (Steve's gonna call you that in the next film maybe, per that Buzzfeed chat).
> 
> Also, in honour of Bucky's birthday and the CW trailer dropping and all of us collectively losing our shit on the internet about it, I SWEAR I will try to be better about comments. (Friends of mine who have gotten replies _years_ after their original emails are laughing now, I bet, the bastards.)
> 
> If you want to know what song I listened to on repeat while writing the end of chapter 3, it was [this one.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lchC5sQepqE)

Chris feels wrung out enough that when they both settle down, after a little more kissing, he realizes he's drifting in and out. He's not really sleepy, it's more the day -- and the night -- catching up with him. Seb unceremoniously stripped off the bedspread and draped most of it over a chair, and Chris pulled the blanket up to his shoulders, but Seb has the top sheet drawn nearly up to his hips. Seb is really sprawled, half-sitting up against the headboard, one leg angled out and the other bent at the knee so he's taking up more than half the bed, and Chris is settled against his chest, Seb's heartbeat in his ear, one arm across Seb's stomach with his hand on Seb's waist, the other tight around Seb's shoulder. Seb's left hand is moving gently but restlessly on Chris's back, occasionally trailing up to comb through his hair, sometimes down to that spot on the back of his neck. Chris thinks maybe the reason he can't doze off is he doesn't quite believe this is real. He keeps almost starting to dream, weird scenarios of people yelling at him or family members suddenly walking through the room, and opening his eyes to feel Seb's hands on him, Seb's skin against his.

After ten or fifteen minutes, Seb nudges him. "Your arm's gonna fall asleep if you don't move."

"'Mfine," Chris manages. "Not that bad." Actually, his arm's already fallen asleep, but he doesn't care. He knows he will later, especially after how physically intense the reshoots were today, but it's impossible to think very far ahead right now.

He can _feel_ Sebastian looking at him. Seb taps his fingers idly on Chris's shoulder, a funny off-beat rhythm, then changes tack. "Wait, I....you mind moving a sec?" He stares innocently down at Chris.

Chris growls but rolls over on his back, his arm lighting up with pins and needles as he does. "Ow ow fuck _ow."_ Sebastian glances over at him, but doesn't say _I told you so,_ pretty loudly. He reaches over to the nightstand (which is fucking _stocked,_ Chris can see now -- condoms, a couple _different_ tubes of lubricant, tissues, wipes, a fucking _orange)_ and feels around, then sits up and leans way over to grab a pair of jeans he left some time earlier on the floor, leaving Chris staring at his naked back and the very start of his ass, as he goes through the pockets. "Aha," Seb says, and draws out a pack of cigarettes. Then he swears when he can't find a lighter in the same jeans.

"I think this is a no-smoking floor," Chris points out. "You know, so if someone _allergic_ to cigarettes wants to book a room, they don't have to worry about not being able to breathe..."

Seb gives him a glare which says distinctly, _You_ are _the actual fucking Captain America, you killjoy,_ cigarette already hanging off his lower lip, and digs through the jeans pockets again. Then his sweatpants. Then the front pockets of a hoodie. The lighter finally turns up _under_ the nightstand, with Chris offering colour commentary while Sebastian goes through his piles of supplies in increasing frustration. _"Nice_ ass....Hey, are those _flavoured?_....Do you know there's Captain America condoms now? Someone tried to give me some at this party once....Did _you_ get me Captain America condoms? -- _No?"_ Sebastian's considerably slowed down because after a while, he just holds up his left hand, middle finger extended in a perpetual salute, while still searching.

Before he can light up Chris asks, "So, you gonna share?"

Sebastian shoots him an amused look. "What about all the poor wheezing people who stay here after we do?"

"Ahh, fuck'em," Chris says, to see Seb smile. "They can open a window."

Sebastian laughs and says, "Watch this."

He shakes out another cigarette, puts it in between his lips next to the first one, making eye contact with Chris as he brushes his own fingers against his mouth. He cups one hand around the ends in the automatic gesture of an outside smoker, lights up both, puffs a few times to make sure they're going, and hands one to Chris, smirking and rather pleased with himself. It's sexy as hell, so of course Chris is going to rag on him about it.

"Smooth, smooth -- _slick,_ even. What old movie did you get that out of?"

Sebastian doesn't lie back down but sits up straight against the headboard, left leg bent double with his elbow propped on that knee, the other stretched out flat in front of him, like a goddamn dancer. "Who said I got it from an old movie?" He raises his left hand to his mouth, the cigarette held between his index and third fingers, inhaling deeply, then breathes the smoke out in a thick even stream that rises up like a plume in the lamplight, keeping himself in photogenic profile the whole time. Chris snorts.

"You love old movies. You get half your shit _from_ old movies."

"I wouldn't talk if I were you, _Captain Rogers._ \-- Yeah, it's an old movie. _Now, Voyager._ You've never seen it?"

"I haven't seen a whole lot of really old movies, no....I'm not that into black and white." Chris has to laugh at how Sebastian seems genuinely shocked, even disappointed. "Sorry! It just doesn't do much for me, I like colour -- you're not gonna kick me out into the cold Georgia night, are you?"

"It depends." Sebastian blows out another, shorter line of smoke and narrows his eyes at Chris. "Tell me you've at least seen _The Third Man,_ all right? Lie to me, if you must."

"I know this one! That's the one with the sled, right?"

"Jackass. No, that's _It's a Wonderful Life._ \-- I _know_ you've seen that fucking one, it's like an American religion."

"I love _It's a Wonderful Life._ I used to watch it with my family every year."

"Of course you fucking did," Sebastian mutters, and sucks on his cigarette like it's an oxygen line instead. He says something like _too good to be real_ under his breath, but Chris pointedly ignores it in favour of asking Seb to share the shot glass he's using as an ashtray.

Sebastian only has that one cigarette, which Chris thinks is maybe unusual, but it seems to be part of his internal self-discipline, like when he decides not to drink. _(Chris_ has to keep a fucking close watch on his own smoking, especially when he drinks, or else he'll wind up inhaling half the fucking pack at once and then wake up wrecked the next day, nauseated and his throat raw, no matter how great it felt at the time. Story of his life, really.) Chris knows Sebastian didn't really ever have to train hard or eat the awful required bulk-up diet before _The Winter Soldier,_ but he thinks it's more than just someone trying to keep faithful to new lifestyle habits. Sebastian often plays in public at being a goof, even if it's with the added layer of openly playing at being a goof, but there's some kind of inner restraint, a strong self-control, that shows through sometimes, and Chris finds it really fucking hot. Partly because he can't help but wonder what would make that control snap, and how much he might have to do with that.

When he was draped across Sebastian's chest, with Sebastian's fingers on his skin and Sebastian's mouth occasionally pressing a kiss to the top of his head, barely ruffling his hair, instead of that being some kind of academic question, he wondered what would happen if he'd turned and licked over Seb's nipple, not sucking, not yet, then gone over it with the edges of his teeth, and breathed on the wet skin, getting it to stiffen up....he's stiffening up himself, again, just at the thought, and he hopes it's not obvious. By now, even the smoke that had been hanging in the air in a faint haze, like smog in an L.A. dawn, has dissipated so much it's just part of the molecules in the atmosphere, the HVAC system filtering it away. Chris is flat on the bed, Sebastian's thigh about two inches away, and now he's thinking about rolling over and burying his face in Sebastian's lap, digging his fingers into Sebastian's flanks, placing deliberate open-mouthed kisses along his cock.

He clears his throat and Sebastian looks down, instantly attentive. "Yeah?"

Chris tries to talk but it's been so long since he said anything -- probably the smoke didn't help -- that his voice is rusty, and he tries getting up on one elbow to reach for a water bottle. Seb says, "No, I got it," flips up the cap one-handed, and then holds it at the right angle for Chris's mouth so he can drink without spilling. Chris has to roll his eyes, but it's still a thoughtful gesture, and after he finishes drinking he says "Thanks, I probably would've made a mess."

"You gotta stop that." Sebastian has a couple of swigs himself, then snaps the bottle shut again with a little more force than necessary, but doesn't put it back down. "Seriously."

"Stop what?" Chris asks lightly. God, this really isn't going where he wanted it to.

"Putting yourself down all the time. Involuntarily. I know, I know -- you got the anxiety, and all that. But it's like your first response to everything, how you tell all the stories about yourself. Not just to other people" -- Sebastian gestures irritably with the bottle, the late hour catching up with his ESL abilities maybe -- "how your own history gets shaped, internally. Self-fulfilling....whatever, yeah, you know."

"I do know," Chris says, dryly. "Knowing is not, typically, really the problem."

"Yeah, well, that's why you should listen to me instead. If you're _really_ being a jerk, I'll tell you so. Then you'll know. But until then, you could assume your....non-jerkness, otherwise." Chris has to laugh at that, which is what Sebastian wants anyway, and Seb rests one hand on Chris's shoulder, idly moving his thumb along the collarbone. Chris relaxes, thinking he's missed the window of opportunity and should try again tomorrow, or later than that, when Sebastian says unexpectedly: "So what was it?"

"What?" Chris squints up at him, but can't read his face from this angle.

"What did you want to talk about? Before we got....sidetracked."

"Oh." Jesus, Seb won't let him get away with a damn thing. "I was...." Chris gestures for the bottle, holds it for himself this time, without managing to spill anything, and drains what's left. "I was thinking about what....what went wrong. If you wanted to talk about it. Unless you're too tired...."

Seb takes the bottle and tosses it lazily at the nightstand, but it bounces off instead and goes clattering to the floor. He doesn't seem to care, but smiles down at Chris instead, now turning so Chris can see his expression -- deep affection, and a little amusement. "You're so fucking transparent I can see right through you, you know that?" he says.

Chris goes hot. This is why many people, starting with Scott when they were young, have told him to never, ever play poker. Sebastian doesn't laugh at him, just lifts his hand and touches the side of Chris's face, drawing a line from his temple down along his jaw to his chin. "You wanna try it again?"

"Well, maybe," Chris mutters. This still really isn't going the way he hoped it might. He tries sacking up and says: "I thought we could....talk about what worked, and what, uh, didn't, communicate better....I don't know. If you wanted."

"No, that's good....that's a good idea." Sebastian's playing it cool, but his hand's moving more slowly and deliberately on Chris's skin now, less absently. "What worked for you?"

Chris grins: that's the Sebastian he's getting to know, deflecting and dodging, but his interest betraying him anyway.

"Well, I liked...." Chris finds himself reaching up for Seb's hand, and tries to control himself. "I think...." He frowns up at the ceiling. "I'm not....well, okay." He twists his neck to look up at Seb, who's sort of side-on from this angle, making his face hard to read again. "I don't mean to say _you_ fucked up, okay, but -- "

"I _did_ fuck up," Sebastian says quietly.

"Oh Jesus, not this again. Listen listen listen. Just -- we _both_ screwed up, all right? Right. Moving on." Chris makes a broad sweeping gesture in midair in front of him, pushing all the earlier hurt and anger to one side. Sebastian smiles, shakes his head -- _you think it's that easy...._ "Without _blame_ entering the equation here, I liked it....better, when I was just lying down, and you told me not to move." Sebastian arches his eyebrows. "Yeah yeah, not just that. I mean, kinky shit, it was a turnon, yeah. But...." Chris stops to try to think through the feeling he wants to put into words. "I know when you wanted me on top," he says slowly, "you thought it would be better, safer, for _me._ But I got....I thought too much. I got kind of messed up, lost in my own head. -- Ahh shit, I'm no good at this, I can't say it," he interrupts himself in exasperation.

"No, you're doing good," Sebastian says, still quiet, and runs his hand through Chris's hair slowly, soothing. "Go on."

"I got too....distracted?" Chris shakes his head. "It was really fucking hot," he says honestly, "when you were just in....control of everything and I was just....kinda blissed out, it didn't hurt, I was....ready for it. Right then. It was okay." His eyes meet Sebastian's and though they're kind of having a weird technical discussion about how they fucked up trying a sex position, his breath stops.

Seb's hand tightens in Chris's hair. "You have to tell me," he says, not stressing his words but spacing them out distinctly so each one of them is emphasized, "if it gets too much. I mean it. You have to promise me."

Chris can't look away. "I promise," he says, trying to put all the sincerity he possibly can into his voice, to let Seb knows how much he means what he's saying. "I swear to you, okay? I won't let it get that bad again. You were right, when you tried to tell me, I thought it'd be easy....I didn't know I'd push myself like that, that much, way too far. Maybe I should've thought about it just because of how I am, like as a person" -- he shrugs -- "but I know it can happen now. And _that's_ on me, not on you. But you can trust me about that now. Maybe I'll still fuck up again, but....at least I'll try. I do promise."

Sebastian doesn't let up his grip or say anything back, but keeps looking right in Chris's eyes, face intent but unreadable, like he's searching deep for something Chris doesn't even know about. Chris keeps as motionless as he can, tries to breathe regularly, not let himself joke his way out of it. Then Sebastian abruptly releases him and slides down the bed in the same motion, so Chris bumps into him. "Sorry -- sorry, I -- " Seb says immediately, trying to steady Chris, but jostling him again instead.

"Jesus, you have fucking _pointy_ elbows," Chris says, trying to defuse the tension. "What are those, fucking _knobs_ on the ends? -- Shit!" he yelps as Sebastian jabs him with one, right under the ribcage. "What about this whole fucking conversation we both just went through? I thought you were supposed to give me tender loving care and -- "

He's overdoing it, but Sebastian plays along, both of them jazzed with sheer relief. "Maybe someone should teach you a lesson," Seb mock-growls, and does a very good impression of Jennifer Lawrence crawling across the bed in _American Hustle._ Chris cracks up, and can't stop -- or rather, the more he tries to stop laughing, the worse it gets. "Hey, watch this -- shut up," Seb says, and kisses him.

It works: after a moment the kiss turns serious, and Sebastian moves on top of Chris, pinning his hands to the bed up by his shoulders, and kisses him long and deep, not hard, but his tongue's soft and insistent. Chris closes his eyes and lets himself slip under, feeling like his bones are going liquid from the inside out. He lets Sebastian drag his hands up over his head, gripping both Chris's wrists in one hand, so Seb can sink his other hand into Chris's hair and pull his head to the side, can mouth roughly along his jaw, press open-mouthed kisses to his neck, lick and bite and suck his throat until Chris is breathing harsh and fast. Seb puts his mouth to Chris's ear and bites down on the lobe, licks _behind_ it (and for some reason that makes Chris's hips jolt up despite his best efforts), and then really works the spot right under his jaw, starting out with delicate kisses and light flicks of his tongue, then kissing harder and increasing the pressure with his tongue until Chris is struggling not to writhe, but can't help straining against Seb's hand grasping his wrists, Seb's hips holding him down to the bed. Seb's dick is pushing against Chris's stomach, and he can feel his own hardon against Sebastian's leg and it's not enough, he tries to tilt his hips to get more friction but Sebastian moves with him, not letting Chris rub up against him, and Chris groans.

Sebastian puts his mouth right by Chris's ear again, but this time he only says, very low: "Chris -- what do you want?"

"You," Chris gasps, and tries to turn his head to kiss Sebastian's mouth, but Seb lifts up, not letting Chris reach him. Chris lets his head fall back on the pillow and groans again, and Sebastian's right back, breath hot on Chris's skin as he rolls his hips and Chris feels his cock drag across Chris's skin. "Tell me what you want me to do," Seb says, and gently turns Chris's head so he can't look away from Sebastian, who's so close Chris is having trouble actually focusing on his face. Their mouths are less than an inch apart.

"I want you to get me ready," Chris says, dazed, the words coming out like he's not the one saying them. "Like you did before....I want you to get me ready, finger me and open me up and make it good, so you can fuck me."

Sebastian lets out a long, slow, controlled exhale and doesn't nod or say yes or anything else, just lets go of Chris's hair and his hands and draws back, settling on his knees in between Chris's legs. He doesn't move immediately but keeps looking at Chris, that long, searching gaze again, like he's trying to find an answer to a question he keeps asking himself. Chris holds himself as still as he can and tries to be as open as possible, trying to let Sebastian see what he needs to. Seb sighs, releasing tension, maybe letting go whatever it is he's trying to figure out too. He bites his lip.

"Lace your fingers together, yeah, that's good....now put your hands under the back of your neck....No, wait. Under the pillow." Without looking for it -- without taking his eyes off Chris's face once -- Sebastian reaches behind him, gets another pillow, and says, "Get up a second?" Chris lifts his hips, his stomach muscles straining briefly, and Seb slips the pillow underneath him. Chris keeps his knees raised, because otherwise the position's going to make his back ache, and Sebastian smiles at him. Chris tries smiling back, but he's breathing hard and his face won't do what he wants. Sebastian slides up _over_ him, the son of a bitch, brushing Chris's dick and making him twitch and moan. Sebastian gets on his left side again, pressing himself tightly against Chris, wraps his right leg around Chris's somehow below the knee, tucking his ankle under, and props himself up on his left elbow. He takes Chris's chin in his right hand.

His stare is so intense, Chris might also call it adoring, or hell, maybe _loving,_ except it's also completely predatory -- bold and possessive. "I -- "

Seb stops abruptly, and it looks like this time _he_ shuts himself up by kissing Chris.

Not being able to move his hands or his head, lying flat waiting from Sebastian to bend down from above and kiss him again and again, gives Chris that same feeling of slipping under, but it's not like drowning or losing consciousness. For all the times it's felt like he and Seb have been in a bubble of their own, starting from that first time in Hayley's bathroom, shut away from everything else, now it's more like reality is confined to the bed they're on. Nothing else has weight, or shape. What's real is Seb's tongue touching his, Seb's right hand moving down his jaw and then his neck, circling the base of his throat for a moment like he's feeling Chris's life under his palm, then palming Chris's cock. Chris feels his breath knife in like he's been sucker punched and stares straight up at the ceiling, eyes wide as he can make them, trembling, trying not to come right here and now. "Shh," Seb whispers, not jacking him off at all, or even squeezing, dragging his fingers delicately up and down. He settles in close to Chris, his mouth above Chris's temple so Chris's face is pressed against his neck, and he can feel Sebastian's blood pulsing in his throat, strong and fast. Chris turns his head so his open mouth is on Sebastian's skin, and tastes salt sweat, the faint sting of smoke, a whiff of generic hotel or gym soap. He tries to just breathe, not move, not come, not anticipate anything. "You're so good," Sebastian murmurs, "I don't even have to tell you to stay still now, do I? Because you want to....for me."

"Yeah," Chris manages, barely. He shivers when Sebastian reaches over, crowding him a little, to the nightstand to get the lube and, judging from the sound of plastic, another condom and maybe something else, but after he get what he wants he draws back. Chris, feeling the slight chill and emptiness instead of Sebastian's warm skin, opens his eyes and looks up. Sebastian's just staring down at him, face intent, and raises one eyebrow, not quite a question.

Chris says, knowing what he's asking, "I promise I'll yell if it hurts. Hotel security will break down the door."

Sebastian fights off a smile, which makes his mouth twist in a fascinating way, and drawls, "You better, brat," before flipping the tube around in his fingers and squeezing some out one-handed. Chris raises his eyebrows and turns down the corners of his mouth in mock appreciation. Sebastian raises his eyebrows, rubs his right thumb on and over his index and middle fingers briskly and then half lies down on Chris, not heavily but keeping him from moving. His face utterly serious now, he reaches down unerringly between Chris's legs, so his finger slides in slowly right as he kisses Chris on the mouth. Chris tries to arch up into the kiss, but Sebastian's got him pinned, so he lets Seb's tongue have his mouth while Seb fingers his ass. Seb keeps the kiss open-mouthed but light, licking Chris's lips and dragging his tongue under the line of Chris's jaw, while his finger pushes in. Chris can't help but try to rock up into the pressure, but Seb stops moving his hand, not saying anything, so Chris lies flat, a soft low "oh" escaping him every time Seb moves further into him. Chris tries to clench around Sebastian's finger to see what it feels like, but he gets a slight stab of pain and Seb nips him warningly on the neck, so he relaxes again. It feels surprisingly good, or at least a helluva lot better, probably because he's not so nervous this time.

"You like it, hunh? Maybe more than last time?" Seb's watching him so intently it's like he thinks Chris is going to disappear if he blinks.

"I like you doing it," Chris says honestly. Sebastian doesn't say anything, but gets up off his elbow and moves down the bed in one smooth motion, his right hand staying inside Chris, and balances himself, one knee between Chris's legs. He kisses Chris's hip, sucks hard enough he might leave a mark, brushes his teeth over Chris's inner thigh but doesn't bite. Then he wraps his lips around the head of Chris's cock, not sucking or teasing, and opens his mouth and slowly deep-throats Chris until he's swallowed him nearly all the way down. At the same time he pulls his hand free, then adds another finger, sliding both in devilishly slowly. He moves with the ease and grace of long practice, and Chris cries out and his hips snap up helplessly, almost without his knowing it. He hopes like hell he didn't choke Seb, but Seb not only anticipates Chris's reaction but keeps smoothly going on. The feeling of his hot soft mouth and the increasing stretch and burn caused by his fingers mix together so Chris gets another hit of that intense not-pain on the edge of pleasure. Seb rests his left hand on Chris's right hip, a reminder: _don't move,_ and Chris says aloud, breathless, "I won't, I'm trying, I swear I'm trying not to." Seb squeezes Chris gently, like he's saying, _I know you are,_ and deep-throats Chris even more slowly while pushing two fingers far in again, further and harder. This time, he pulls up with incredible gentle slowness, sucking gently all the way, and circles the head of Chris's cock with his tongue while leaving his fingers inside. Chris is helpless to fight the twinned sensations, that intense internal pressure that means he's going to come any second and how his body's easing around Seb's hand, the hot soreness changing into a warm relief.

"Seb," he says, gasping for air, "I'm gonna, I'm -- "

Seb opens his mouth, releasing Chris, and says "No you're not" with real authority, but then he _bends_ his fingers inside Chris somehow and Chris cries out again, _loud,_ but doesn't move -- he goes tight all over and then it's like something lets him go. Sebastian does it again and Chris shudders, and then Sebastian withdraws his fingers gently, the feeling of cold slick emptiness sudden and weird. "On your front," Seb says softly, and Chris turns over, burying his face in the pillow, keeping his hands underneath it. Sebastian smooths one hand down Chris's lower back, over his ass, spreading his legs, then nudging them to open more, and asks, "You'll tell me -- this time? If it's too much?"

The uncertainty in his voice is kind of fucking heartbreaking, and Chris breaks the rules to look back over his shoulder. His breath catches at the sight of Sebastian kneeling on the bed behind him, cock ramrod-straight and flushed dark pink, his hair wildly rucked up on one side and his eyes as questioning as his voice. "Yeah," he says, short of breath, and then tries again, wanting it to sound better, stronger. "I promise, I will."

Sebastian bites his lip, then reaches forward and starts rubbing Chris's shoulders lightly, not massaging but circling in a steady rhythm. Chris expects Seb's hands to move down his back to his ass, but instead Seb gently pulls one of Chris's arms up and over, then the other, arranging them, until they're crossed behind his back, and when Sebastian lets go his hands, he's holding his own wrists. "That okay -- it doesn't hurt?" Sebastian says, sounding anxious; that's Chris's fault.

Chris tries shifting back and forth. It's maybe _strange_ \-- he doesn't think anyone's ever kind of folded him up like this before -- but not actually uncomfortable. He can breathe fine, just not quite as deeply as usual, and he has no leverage at all, and his ass feels more spread open and exposed than ever. He can't see what Seb's doing behind him, either. _Vulnerable,_ that's it. But he breathes in and tries relaxing deliberately, letting himself sink down, and Seb lets out a breathy groan. "That's right," he says, "good, you're so good for me, God, you're so -- I can't -- " Chris can hear Seb rubbing more lube onto his fingers, and then Seb works him open more, one hand pushing slowly deep in, the other one resting lightly on Chris's linked hands, their fingers curled together. Seb twists or spreads or does _whatever_ the fuck it is with his fingers again, but more slowly this time, and this time Chris doesn't half levitate off the bed but braces himself against the mattress and breathes through it, clutching Seb's hand hard. Seb murmurs, "Don't move, don't move, just....yeah, that's it, we're getting you there, you're so fucking good, I don't know what I did to fucking deserve this, I want it to be so good for you" just loud enough to drive him crazy. Seb slowly pulls his fingers out, then leans forward, not putting weight on Chris's chest, and says, "Now, Chris -- now I'm gonna fuck you, are you ready? Do you want me to?"

Chris has never wanted anything more in his life, but he doesn't know how to say that.

"Chris, please -- you have to say you want me to -- I need to hear you," Sebastian begs, and it feels like Chris's heart cracks. He says _yes, yes yes, please, Seb_ and twists his neck so he can see even a little of Seb's face, he needs to see him like he needs to breathe, and Seb leaves half of a crushing kiss on his mouth, then another on his cheekbone, more kisses on the side of his head, his back, anywhere Seb can reach. He leans away to roll the condom on, and Chris shuts his eyes, trying not to remember the last time and how he fucked up, feeling his back tense. Seb whispers to him soothingly, rubs his shoulders and down along his arms again, squeezing his wrists to emphasize how he's restrained, until Chris feels his body loosening under Seb's hands. Then Seb grabs both of his hips, maybe strongly enough to bruise, steadying himself, and says "Chris, now -- I'm gonna -- "

"Yeah," Chris gets out, "do it, _fuck me,_ God, stop teasing, I want you, I want you so bad, Seb -- "

"Don't move," Seb says one more time and Chris feels the head of Sebastian's cock, hard and fucking _huge,_ right at his hole, and absolutely nothing like a finger. Sebastian's good, too good at this, like it's his fucking _job_ \-- Chris feels Seb enter him, frighteningly controlled: it's a constant, gentle pressure, excruciatingly slow, and then he stops completely. Chris, desperate, tries to jerk back and get Sebastian further _in him,_ but Seb sharply digs his nails into Chris's thigh, hard enough to make Chris go still.

"You have to trust me," he says firmly, spacing his words out again so Chris knows he's serious. "You have to let me -- you don't know -- you just have to let me do it, Chris, let me show you."

"Okay," Chris says, panting, gripping his own wrists too tightly, "I will, I'm sorry, I will -- "

"Shh...no, no. I know. It's okay. You're doing so good....you are, you're so beautiful, you're so fucking tight. But you feel that?" Seb pushes further in, just a little, and Chris hisses as it burns, but it's like a spark off a cigarette -- there then gone, the same instant, and he feels himself opening around Seb, letting him in. "There....right there. Just breathe, Chris, beautiful, you're so -- just breathe and let me in, there, yeah, there, _right_ fucking there...." Seb's letting Chris clutch at the fingers of his left hand, supporting himself with his right as he slides into Chris further and further, maybe a fraction of an inch at a time, with an iron discipline Chris can't begin to imagine. He just keeps trying to breathe, like he's told, as Seb groans but keeps moving himself forward slowly into Chris until Chris feels Seb's balls against his thighs. _Jesus fucking Christ._ His breathing gets short, like he's about to panic, but Seb stays almost perfectly calm; Chris can feel his thighs trembling, barely, he wouldn't notice it if Seb weren't flush up against him. In him. They're joined together, and Chris feels like he never wants them to be split apart. Seb holds Chris's forearm hard with one hand, using the other to brace himself on the bed so he can lean down and kiss the back of Chris's neck, nuzzle at the side of his face. "Breathe....breathe....c'mon, just breathe with me," he coaxes. Chris closes his eyes and puts his face against the pillow, trying to block it all out for a minute. He feels Seb's hand on the back of his neck. "Chris, no....stay with me, please." Chris turns his head so his cheek's against the pillow, but doesn't open his eyes.

Seb caresses his face. "I'm gonna fuck you now," he says tenderly, "it'll be good, you'll see." Chris thinks if anything _more_ happens, he might fucking pass out, but he has to trust Seb now; he had no idea what he was fucking getting himself into, as usual. He nods. "You'll see," Seb says again, confident, and then eases himself back up. Chris feels him pull back, maybe a couple of inches, not much but enough that Chris can really feel it when Seb slides forward again. He groans, and Seb says, "Wait, wait, just wait," and does it again, increasing the distance each time, exercising that same almost-scary control. Chris feels sweat beading along his hairline, prickling on his back, and the pillow under his dick's too fucking soft, he needs to grind against it, fuck into it, do _something_ \-- Seb just keeps fucking him, steady and unstoppable, pulling out a little farther and thrusting in a little deeper and harder each time. He feels all the friction from Seb being _in_ his ass that Chris would normally feel from being inside someone else -- "Yeah, that's it," Seb says, "you're getting it, God, yeah, you're getting there...." He slids into Chris all the way again, and this time pulls smoothly back, not quite all the way out -- Chris gasps -- and then all the way back in again, easier, always easier.

"Chris, you all right? Is it all right -- "

"Yeah, Jesus, yes, don't stop."

Seb speeds up slightly, so there's that slight burn again, the edge on the feeling, but now it's not only flashing between pain and pleasure but _intense,_ something bigger, different, like enduring the burn in your muscles during a run when you hit the wall, and then feeling your body suddenly pick up, lighter, stronger, like you could run all day. Chris moans, and something in the sound must tip Sebastian off, because he says, "I'm gonna come first, Chris, okay, because you said it gets too much for you -- but I'll make you come, I promise, I just...." He takes a deep breath and then that feeling of being pierced and filled up increases tenfold as Seb starts shallowly thrusting into Chris, staying buried deep in him but jerking his hips back and forth, not hard but picking up speed. Seb pins his hips to the bed with both hands and fucks into him, saying _"oh"_ hoarsely every time he thrusts in, like he's not really aware of it. Chris starts to moan too, carried along on Seb's passion like when he's fucking a girl and she starts to come first. Sebastian's rhythm gets faster, jerkier, and then he thrusts deep a few times, still powerfully controlled, and stops, panting like he's just run a race. Chris wants to cling to him, hold Seb so tight he can't pull out to keep Seb's cock in him as long as he can, but he holds his own wrists harder instead -- if he bruises himself, it's going to be _really_ interesting trying to explain those marks tomorrow.

Seb says, "Up for me, come on, raise up a little for me, let me reach -- " and starts to pull out, but Chris interrupts: "No -- no, get me off while you're still inside, please, Seb, I want to feel you. In me. When I come. I need to. Please."

Seb hesitates but then says, "Okay....okay," and shifts his weight back. He's still hard so Chris feels Seb's cock move inside himself and groans. He manages to roll to the side and somehow hold himself up enough so Seb can reach his dick, which makes Seb slip even deeper into him, and he clenches his teeth. "You've been so good," Sebastian says, right in his ear, "you had to wait to come, but it's gonna be so good for you, Chris, you can come now, come on, you can, come for me, _now,_ Chris -- " At the command, Chris throws back his head (barely missing cracking Sebastian's nose, he'll say later -- "Imagine makeup trying to cover _that_ up") and lets go with a long, drawn-out groan that sounds like someone enduring a knife being pulled out of their stomach, no sound he's ever made in bed before. Seb's stroking him rough and fast, and then he sinks his teeth into Chris's shoulder and uses his tongue at the same time so all the sensations run together bright and hot at once, and Chris crumples down onto the bed like a rag doll. Seb almost falls across him, crushing the breath out of his chest, and tries to roll off immediately. "Sorry, God, I don't want to -- "

"No, no, stay, stay," Chris says, not groping back for him, to his surprise -- he's forgot he's holding his own wrists. Seb sprawls mostly on top of him, kisses his temple, cheek, the side of his face, the very corner of his mouth, and Chris lies there, feeling like he can't ever move again.

"We're gonna make this work," Seb says low and intent in his ear, "somehow, I don't even fucking know how but I won't, you're not -- we're gonna make this work, okay? You and me," and Chris just says "Yes," because he can't ever really say anything else to Seb, would do whatever he fucking wanted.

"I won't lose you," Seb says, and it sounds almost like a threat or a plea, "I won't, I can't." All Chris can think of to say is "I'm here," but it seems like enough -- Seb relaxes, his weight getting heavier on top of Chris, so he says it again. "I'm here. Sebastian. I'm right here." Seb shudders, and they're so close together Chris feels Seb's cock stirring slightly inside him, though it's maybe softening now, and he winces. Seb picks up on it and kisses his shoulder, then hauls himself up on one elbow, sounding more together again.

"....Take in a deep breath, right? Now out...." and Chris exhales slowly as he can as Seb pulls out, less slowly but steadily. It's almost too much in his typical post-orgasm sensitivity, but the pain isn't that bad, nothing like last time at all. There must be enough endorphins shooting through his system to get all of New York City high.

Seb squeezes his hands lightly to get Chris to let go of his own wrists, then massages them gently, getting the blood flowing again, chafes his palms and says wryly, "Oh yeah, you can move now."

"That's a matter of opinion," Chris mutters into the pillow. Seb chuckles.

Sebastian doesn't get up to get a towel from the bathroom; instead Chris hears him reach over to the nightstand again, and then feels Seb wiping his thighs, his ass, around his hole, with a soft, dry cloth. Sebastian's fingers, firm but gentle, spread his thighs slightly, pulling at the skin like he's trying to see under Chris's legs. "What're you looking for?" Chris asks, bemused.

Sebastian's hands stop touching him, and he doesn't answer for a moment. "Ah, bruises," he says finally, "I didn't see any, though, or any....blood...."

"Oh." Chris wants to know what would make Sebastian even check for bruises or blood, after a guy's first time, but doesn't feel like he can ask right now. Seb deflects and distances a lot during conversations, but sometimes even when he's talking, what he says seems to have another, private level of meaning, locked away.

"You seem fine, though," Sebastian says, unable to hide his relief, and Chris aches for whatever happened to him, probably long ago, that would make him so anxious about hurting a lover, even unintentionally.

"Yeah," Chris answers. "You took care of me."

Sebastian's silent, but the room's so quiet Chris can hear his soft breathing. Then he feels Sebastian's breath brush over his ass, Seb's mouth press against the back of his thigh, soft, not a kiss, hardly a touch. Sebastian runs his hands up Chris's back, then settles in next to him and gently pulls him over, so Chris is the little spoon. Chris has to smile at that: it's not the first position anyone's chosen with him, before this. Sebastian fits himself to Chris, sliding their knees together, stroking one foot along the outside of Chris's leg. He kisses the back of Chris's neck. Chris reaches back, and grips Sebastian's hand so fiercely it startles himself. Sebastian squeezes back as tightly, though, and neither one of them lets up, or lets go.

Seb says, lightly, "So, baby, was it good for you?" but Chris hears the slight uncertainty under the joking. He doesn't laugh, but twists so he can bring their joined hands to his mouth, and kisses Seb's knuckles, one at a time.

"Well, you were _right there,"_ he says, gently. "I mean, if you couldn't _tell -- "_

"Oh Jesus, this is what I get for trying to be nice," Seb grumbles, but his voice is lighter.

"It was....intense," Chris says, trying to be honest. "Really fucking intense."

"But good?"

"Oh, yeah. Intense _and_ good. I mean, I don't know if I'd want to do that every _day,_ but, yeah.... _good,_ you know it was....Mindblowing good."

"All right," Sebastian says, satisfied, and shoves up against him so hard it feels almost like he's trying to push under Chris's skin.

"Christ, you just can't get close enough, can you?" Chris pulls Sebastian's arm to rest in front of him, wrapping them even more tightly around each other. He wants to ask a multitude of questions, ranging from _When can we do that again?_ to _Why do you think you'll lose me?_ and _What does it mean if you don't?_ but won't let them fully surface even only in his mind. His mouth, however, as always, comes to the rescue.

"Do you think that's what it's like for....girls?" he finds himself asking. It's something that's always fascinated him, because he knows he'll never have that experience. Seb shakes his head.

"No. I don't think that's what it's like for girls to get fucked," he says with confidence.

Chris is about to retort, _How would you know,_ when Seb goes on: "I _do_ think that's what it's like for girls to get fucked in the ass." Chris feels his mouth drop open.

Seb laughs, even though he can't see Chris's expression. "Really, no, think about it! Butts -- everyone's got them, right? Anal is....the universal. Anal-versal," he says, sounding much too happy with his own terrible joke. Chris groans.

"You're twisted. You know that?"

"Me? How am _I_ twisted? It's natural! Look, does everyone have a butt or not?"

"Everyo -- okay, I'm not playing straight man here," Chris deadpans, and Seb howls, then kisses his neck.

"I'll say you're not. -- But seriously! No. I'm serious." Seb tries to stop laughing, but it keeps bubbling up as he talks, in an unfairly adorable way. "Taking it up the ass -- that's the sexual....constant. Everyone's got a bottom, so everyone _is_ a bottom. Potentially."

"Naturally," Chris says snidely, to hear Seb laugh again.

"Yes! Naturally. It's like....remember _Jurassic Park?_ All embryos are inherently female, it's not until the hormone gets released at a developmental stage that -- "

"You're such a nerd," Chris says affectionately.

"I'm telling you. Either nature is perverted, or perversion is natural and there's no such thing."

"I'm telling _you,_ you're a fuckin' nerd."

They lazily trade dumb insults for a while, sleepy and affectionate, and Chris has never wanted to move less in his life, but he says, "If I stay here, I'm gonna fall asleep, and we said we shouldn't do that...."

Seb's hold on him tightens a little bit. "I was thinking," he says, but then stops. Chris waits, but he doesn't continue.

"Yeah?" he says carefully.

Seb sighs, then sits up without entirely disentangling himself from Chris and leans over his hip, looking for something on the floor. (If Chris's mom saw their hotel rooms, she would never let either of them hear the end of it.) "There, that green kind of duffle bag -- see it?"

"Yeah -- I think I can reach -- " Chris leans forward, moving away from Sebastian, and manages to snag it. It's stuffed pretty full, but isn't at all heavy. He sits crosslegged and starts to hand it to Seb, who shakes his head and flops back down on the bed, like he's tired of holding himself upright.

"No, I got it for you."

Chris mentally shrugs and unzips it. Inside are some of _his_ clothes, clean and unworn -- a couple of T-shirts, boxer shorts, pajama bottoms, socks, a hoodie....and some new toiletries, like an unwrapped toothbrush, stick deodorant, a brand-new twin of the shaving kit Seb used in Hayley's bathroom, some extremely lurid condoms (yellow, purple, violently green) that probably glow in the dark -- and as he goes through the bag, he starts laughing. "Oh God, don't tell me, you got Hayley to raid my room?"

Seb shakes his head. "Scarlett did it. She got them to buy some whole sob story about her being your girlfriend and having left something _very_ personal in your room and she absolutely had to get it right now, and by the time she packed all that up I think someone was already talking to TMZ, so they're posting items about you two sneaking in and out of each others' rooms. Pretty smart -- now if someone sees you going back to your room wearing different clothes, they might assume you'd been with her."

"She's fuckin' crazy like a fox," Chris agrees. "A foxy fox." This amuses both of them way too much, they're too punchy, and even though they don't have to get up early in the morning for once, it does have to be before noon.

Seb pauses before going on: "And I....I thought, well....if you wanted to stay here, overnight, not _every_ night I mean, if you don't want to, this would be....a good way....you don't leave anything here, your stuff's still in your room, it's just so you could....stay." He's drawling even more than usual, both of them are crashing. Chris can't remember why either of them thought it was a good fucking idea not to spend nights together, anyway; there were probably a whole host of reasons but right now he can't recall a single damn one, not with Sebastian naked in bed with him and practically asleep already. He's always thought there's something a lot more intimate about sleeping together in a bed, which is probably why he hasn't done it with a lot of people, why his home is in his childhood bedroom where he studied for math tests. To have someone, a _specific_ someone, in bed beside you so you can go to sleep, knowing that things are all right because they're there, even if nothing's all right, other than their presence; and knowing that if you woke up tomorrow without them, in a palace, in a utopia, or Heaven, everything would be wrong. 

The same way couples touch, even ones that've been together for years, decades, not in lust or even affection but something deeper, primal: _you're here so I am too._ When intimacy, safety, acceptance, comfort, isn't only a physical space like a bedroom, or a bed, or warm blankets or familiar books on shelves and posters on the walls. Something you build on, like [the stone in the river,](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5460110) but the stone isn't a childhood home or a familiar bed or the school building you spent years of your life inside in your hometown, but another _person,_ flawed and faulty as yourself, and the one way someone else can be a foundation like the stone is if you know them, all of them, accept them -- love them, fuck them, sure, but those are just part of how thoroughly they know you. And that knowledge is what people are remembering, reaffirming, when one of them touches the other's arm while they're sitting watching TV, or reaches out to hold hands for a moment in line at the grocery store. Or when one of them drapes his hand over your knee, not even all that enticingly, waiting for you to finish whatever the hell you're doing so you can turn off the light and fall asleep together, like Seb's hand on his knee here and now.

Chris has never had that, with anyone; he's missed it, thought about it, and everyone calls him a romantic, but he's not sure he's ever really _wanted_ it, that kind of entanglement. It makes a nine-picture deal with Marvel look like a fifteen-minute-long speed date. But now, he's pretty sure he wants it with someone, with _Seb,_ this all-too-specific person who worships actors from the fifties and directors from the sixties and seventies and likes his showers too fucking cold and tears up at Pixar movies instead of Disney classics. Seb's breathing is deep and regular, his hand heavy and warm, his eyelids twitching very slightly. Chris can't help but smile.

"You're asleep."

"No....no," Seb protests, turning over and apparently trying to dig his head under Chris's thigh, like it's a pillow. Chris laughs, carefully zips up the bag, and drops it by the side of the bed, so he'll be sure to see it in the morning.

"....Hey, you're _on_ the blanket."

"No," Seb says again, but so out of it he might as well be talking to someone in a dream, a high school teacher or exam proctor or the first person who ever mocked him for speaking with an accent and not knowing the right bands. Chris thinks he was drifting off himself, over the bag full of the clothes Scarlett stole from his room so he and Seb could stay together. He gives up and turns out the light, yanking the blanket out from underneath Sebastian so they can touch each other underneath it as they sleep, without even knowing it. Sebastian gives a single violent muffled sound of protest, then turns over and shoves himself back against Chris so unthinkingly, like it's the habit of half a lifetime, Chris's breath catches. He sits very still on the bed, in this strange hotel room that's a mirror of his own, the same but opposite, with this person he feels he needs more than anything, essential like air or water. It's probably creepy to stay awake and watch Seb in the first stages of sleep, but he does it anyway, seeing how Seb's mouth falls slightly open and the creases near his eyes flatten out, become nearly invisible thin cracks, as his facial muscles go slack. Chris has been to a few family funerals, and he knows the bullshit that dead people look "just like they're sleeping" is just that, bullshit. But someone who's asleep looks so completely elsewhere, out of reach and yet right next to you, it's almost scary. He reaches out and gently brushes some hair off Seb's face, on the off chance it might tickle him and wake him up, it has nothing to do with needing to feel Seb's warmth at all.

"I love you," he whispers. "Sebastian, it wasn't a joke. I do." He can't hear himself; he doesn't think his breath even stirs the air.

For a horrifying, strangely thrilling moment, Seb's head turns and Chris thinks he overheard, but Seb's eyes are shut, his mouth sagging at the corners, and then he grumbles something and rolls over heavily, burying his face in a pillow. Chris feels his entire upper body release, everything in it, his lungs suddenly filling, heart beating, feeling relief so great he's almost shaking. He lies down before he can say any more reckless disastrous things and hooks his left ankle over Seb's leg, and cautiously puts his hand on Sebastian's side, but Seb's breathing stays even, so Chris relaxes more, and finally feels how exhausted he really is. Thank God, Seb didn't hear him, and he didn't fuck everything up. It's still all right. They're safe.

 

In america,  
I place my ring  
on your cock  
where it belongs.  
No horsemen  
bearing terror,  
no soldiers of doom  
will swoop in  
and sweep us apart.

\-- Essex Hemphill

 


End file.
